


When Dragons Cry

by Grimalkenkid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler is an Angel, Dragon Genji Shimada, Dragon Hanzo Shimada, Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 Edition, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Werewolf Jesse McCree, it won't follow all of D&D rules but it'll follow most of them, well... just draconic but they are kinda dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 47,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimalkenkid/pseuds/Grimalkenkid
Summary: Overwatch was an order of paladins dedicated to protecting the world from evil, but it fell years ago. Now the country of Vishkar, with the goal of bringing the entire world under its control, is setting its sights on the neighboring nation of Omnica, but the heroes who would save them may not be able - or willing - to answer the call.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> (Cross-posted from Tumblr.)
> 
> This is my first long-term fic for this fandom. I hope I'll be able to continue writing it to completion, but I'd really like y'all's help. If you have any suggestions or comments, please let me know. I can handle any criticism so long as I'm given suggestions on how it can be fixed.
> 
> This is supposed to be an ensemble cast, so I'd also like to know if I ever write someone OOC.
> 
> But otherwise, sit back, relax, and I hope you enjoy this Dungeons and Dragons inspired fic.

“If these spell-slingers think they’ll win, then they’ve got one heck of a wake up call coming!”

The captain’s words carried across the field of battle, barely affected by the whipping of wind and flapping of gryphon wings. Whether it was a magical clarity or just his natural booming voice meant nothing to Fareeha. Below them sat the garrison, an impregnable fortress they called home, and a squad of mages beyond the gates. They hurled spells at both the walls and the riders, but the stone held fast, and the riders dodged nearly every blast. _What a waste of energy_ , she thought. _But I shall not give them quarter. They will pay for this aggression._

Her gryphon flew in lazy circles, waiting for the next command. They didn’t have to wait long. “Concentrate on the soldiers. Archers! Take care of the mages the moment you have a clear shot!”

Fareeha’s gryphon, Nassor, gave a sharp shriek of joy. He didn’t speak the language, but he knew that tone. Nudging him into a dive, the cavalier readied her blade to strike at an armored man blocking the arrows from reaching the unarmored mages behind him. His helm prevented her from seeing if he saw her coming – it was just as likely that he was focusing on the other riders – and her halberd struck true, breaking his shield away from his arm.

She had little time to celebrate, as she turned away from the man, flying back up to prepare for another strike while keeping out of reach of his sword. It wasn’t the sword she needed to worry about, though. Fire tore through her side, her metal armor doing nothing to stop the scalding heat. Fareeha grunted. It wasn’t the worst injury she’d ever received, but it was enough to make her fall back. Her armor was worse than useless now that it burned her skin with every movement.

Landing inside the garrison walls, she rushed to where she knew their healers would be. The cavalier called for a cleric, and a winged woman rushed to her side. She took one look at Fareeha with her red, bleary eyes and spoke a few words in an ancient tongue. The cavalier sighed as the burn subsided, replaced by a gentle cold. However, the pain lingered.

“I’m sorry,” the cleric panted, bracing herself against Nassor’s neck. “I used up all of… of my more powerful spells.”

Fareeha shook her head. “Anything you can do is appreciated, Angela. Now, I must return to the fray.”

Angela nodded and let go of her gryphon, standing on her own feet, however unsteadily. The cavalier twisted the reins in her hands, ready to give her mount the command to take off.

Neither expected the explosion. It came from the walls opposite the attackers and shook the ground with such force that Nassor opened his wings just to stay upright. Angela did the same, though she fell to her knees anyway. Dust and rough flecks of fractured rock rained down on them, leaving shallow scratches on any skin not covered with steel plates. All around them, the other healers cursed and swore, grabbing their own weapons as the other recovering cavaliers dashed to see what had just happened.

Fareeha rubbed the dust out of her eyes and followed them, ordering Angela to stay behind. Nassor chirped angrily as he took to wing, only just clearing the roofs of the barracks before dropping again. Force missiles and fireballs whistled overhead, coming from a gaping hole in the wall.

“They’re coming from the western wall!” the cavalier shouted, but her words fell on deaf ears. The few cavaliers who had rushed in directly from the infirmary had succumbed to the barrage of spells and fallen to the ground, pinned beneath their gryphons’ bodies and unmoving. Ducking in and out of the sparse cover provided by the buildings’ walls, Fareeha looked around for the captain. But he was nowhere to be seen. Shouts from the northeast walls took away the little hope she had, as they called for the second-in-command to give the orders. The captain’s second was a good man but not quite as skilled in strategy as the captain himself was.

_What now?_ Fareeha’s thoughts ran wild, trying to piece together the best solution to salvage the situation. _They’re inside. They must be! But everyone was countering the attack outside the walls… It… It was just a distraction…_

Lost in her own mind, the cavalier drifted too far out of cover. She yanked back on Nassor’s reins when she saw the bolt of orange light heading for her, but it was too late. The fireball exploded to the side, searing both her and her gryphon. Fareeha heard his shrieks and, for all she knew, she was screaming as well. Her mind went white from the pain. It was pure muscle memory that kept them from falling to the ground, Nassor’s wings straightening out and locking in place so they drifted down slowly. They still hit the dirt hard, but it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been.

The soft bristles of brown feathers and rough leather was replaced by cold earth on her side. It took a moment for the cavalier to realize that she had fallen from the saddle. It would’ve been wonderful if she could just stay there, with her burns pressed against the cool dirt, but the clarity following the banishment of pain allowed her to hear a voice calling her name. Groaning, Fareeha pushed herself up and forced herself to look at the woman running down the path. Her vision swam, but she had an idea of who it was.

“Pelor preserve us!” Angela cried, falling to her knees before the cavalier. She passed her hands over the burns, and Fareeha sighed as she felt that familiar, cooling sensation. The cleric turned to Nassor and did the same, glancing back with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. “What happened? Everyone began falling and…”

Narrowing her eyes, Fareeha winced at the lingering pain in her cheek. There was little she could do now. Reinforcements would take too long to come, and without the captain, they might not be able to turn the tide. The decision didn’t come easily; she wanted to stamp in defiance and would have done so had Angela not been there. She stood back to her full height and looked right into the cleric’s watery eyes. “We’re retreating,” she stated.

“Wha-?”

Angela squeaked a bit as Fareeha grabbed her and dragged her onto Nassor’s back. Her feet weren’t even fully in the stirrups before she urged him to take off once more. The cleric yelled incoherent babblings, but the cavalier didn’t slow down. Spells flew past them, close enough that they could hear the buzzing of electricity and the crackle of fire. They were not headed toward the fighting, which made many of the mages’ attacks miss wildly. If Fareeha’s luck could hold out just a little longer, then they could get away mostly unscathed.

Nassor had just barely cleared the southern wall when it happened. A bolt of pure force whistled through the air, twisting and turning to hit its target unerringly. Pain, burning and bright, ripped through her side as the bolt hit. Fareeha screamed, but the sound was lost to her as blackness consumed her vision. The last thing she heard was Angela asking – begging – her to hold on.

Just a little longer…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first very long fic, and one that I could use a lot of help writing. So, any comments and critiques would be greatly appreciated. Even if there was just one sentence you liked or disliked, please let me know. Feedback helps me keep producing high quality writing, and further improves my skills.
> 
> Now sit back and enjoy "When Dragons Cry."


	2. It Begins... As It Always Does

_A few days earlier…_

 

The sharp clicking of heels was the only sound that echoed through the hewn stone halls as Satya made her way through the castle. No one else passed her as she pointedly ignored the imperfections in the stonework, the minute cracks and differences in tile size that most would never notice, yet she caught with only a glance. It was not her job to critique the architecture. No, as one of the highest-ranking mages serving the Vishkar royal family, she was to keep the peace and protect their interests. To make sure their plans were not interrupted or compromised.

And such was the reason for her hurried footsteps that morning. Stopping at an intricately carved wood door far shorter than the vaulted ceiling covering the hallway, the wizard stood tall and cleared her throat. “Satya Vaswani, here as requested. I apologize for any delay, my liege.”

A brief silence passed after her announcement, where she heard a shuffling and what sounded like a soft cackling beyond the door. Before she could decipher what it was, the hinges creaked, revealing a small, lizard-man pulling open the door with all his strength. Satya didn’t know why the royal family kept such weak creatures as personal attendants, but she never thought to question them openly. As the door swung open, though, she bowed, already sure of what was behind it.

Leaning back in an elegant almost-throne sat an anthropoid tiger, his striped fur groomed to a glistening sheen and his thick, orange mane of hair restrained in the form of dozens of small braids. Before him was a long, mahogany table, hundreds of papers and candelabras peppering its surface. Documents of tactics and updates from their invasions, no doubt. In his lap was a grey, long-haired cat, its fur clearly showing on his black robes, who was being stroked by the tiger’s backwards hands. It always unnerved Satya that her royals all had those strange hands; it felt unnatural, but she knew it was just a sign that they were true rakshasa… the glorious mages who led their country – and eventually all countries – into a better age.

“Good morning, Satya,” the crown prince purred, motioning for her to step forward. “You are prompt as always, so no need to apologize. I will be brief, as you will soon be very busy: we are having trouble along the border where the Helix Guard is stationed. As such, we have hired these fine gentlemen to accompany you and your mages to spearhead an assault on their garrison.”

At his words, the prince motioned to the side of the table that had previously been blocked from her view by the door. Satya flinched at what she saw but was able to contain the worst of her disgust. The two men her prince was indicating were nothing short of unclean… literally. The larger of the two was obviously an ogre mage, easily three times her size and just barely fitting in the chair’s seat. His face was covered by a leather mask resembling that of a pig’s snout, but his curved horns and blue skin were clearly visible as he wore no shirt, just a pair of ill-fitting trousers and what she believed were spiked boots.

The other man was much less clear in what he was. He was slender like an elf, but his hands – well, the one hand he that was not made of metal – was not, much more closely resembling a human’s. He was slouching in his chair, but it was clear he was tall… much like an orc, yet his face was pointed and the back of his head quite stout. In all, he looked like someone had smashed together one of every common race to form a single person. _Mongrelfolk,_ she mentally sighed, taking slight note that he wore similar garb to the ogre beside him. _What is my liege thinking? They cannot possibly be trusted to have the betterment of our nation in mind._

Tearing her eyes away from the newcomers, Satya forced a smile. “Understood, Crown Price Pyjahr. When shall we be embarking on this task?”

The prince smiled a toothy grin. He knew her well enough to see her discomfort, but he also knew that she would never disobey a direct order. Not when it came from her prince. “My father wishes for this to be done within the week, so you will leave immediately. Take whatever supplies you need and gather your mages. I would love to see you all out by tonight, but if you need time, tomorrow would be acceptable, too. But please, take at least a little time to meet your newest compatriots… This is Mako Rutledge and Jamison Fawkes. Gentlemen, this is Satya Vaswani… our mage-crafter. She will be your commander for this mission, so obey her commands.”

Satya shivered as the mongrelfolk chuckled and leapt to his feet, approaching her with a limp. The reason for his limp was soon obvious as she saw that his right leg was not his own but a peg leg made of the same metal as his arm. “Well, it ain’t every day I get ta work with a pretty Sheila like you. Think I’ll like this job, eh, Mako?”

The ogre mage let out an annoyed huff and pushed himself out of his chair. “… Yeah… Just behave yourself.”

“I’ll do me best!” Jamison said, giving a mock salute to Mako with his fake arm. “So… what do ya want us ta do, magey?”

 _What I want is to do this as quickly as possible so I don’t have to stand in your filth-covered presence any longer than necessary,_ she thought to herself. She would never utter such disrespectful words to someone directly hired by her prince, though, and so she gave the man a nod instead. “You will come with me as I gather my troops. I want to know all of your capabilities so as to best utilize them in the coming battle. By your leave, my liege?”

Pyjahr waved one hand towards the trio. “You are excused. I do ask you leave Aadarsh with me, though, so I can give any instructions as they come.” He stroked the cat in his lap to emphasize the point. Aadarsh was Satya’s familiar, an animal linked to her through magic, and as such was far more intelligent than an ordinary animal. Whatever the rakshasa prince told him, Satya would also know within seconds through the empathic link she shared with the cat.

The mage-crafter bowed deeply. “As you wish, crown prince. We shall take our leave, then.” Glancing back to Mako and Jamison for a moment, she sighed and waved them to follow her. The ogre mage gave no indication of excitement or resignation, but the mongrelfolk looked practically gleeful to be moving again. She hadn’t noticed it before, but he was constantly fidgeting and turning what looked like an explosive fuse in his real hand. “When I return, it shall be in victory.”

The crown prince nodded as they turned to leave. “Good luck, Satya, and may the gods smile on your endeavor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.
> 
> I would like some help determining the eventual pairings. The only two I have pinned down right now are Gency/Emergenji and Zaryatta, but others I have considered are McHanzo, Reinzo, Meicer, Symmrat, Reaper76, and BunnyRibbit. I also like the idea of a Genji/Mercy/Pharah polyamorous relationship, but we'll see how things go.
> 
> If there's something y'all would like to see (or a pairing you'd like me to consider) please let me know in the comments.


	3. One Hell of a Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji and Zenyatta are pulled from their wanderings by a very familiar face.

Genji pulled his tail into his lap as more and more townsfolk entered the tavern, the roar of their varied orders causing the poor waitress to dash among the tables. He didn’t want to tempt fate by leaving his tail where it could easily find itself underfoot. There was a time when he would’ve snapped at anyone who overlooked the green-scaled appendage and happened to trip over it, but those days were long past. Now, he was far more aware of his own body and the space it occupied… mainly due to the warforged sitting across from him.

“Worried about a stray rocking chair, my student?” Zenyatta chuckled softly at the draconic man’s shifting. A few of the patrons turned to give him a look of simultaneous confusion and distain at the metallic laughter before going back to their drinks. If the warforged monk was bothered by the attention, he didn’t show it.

Genji shook his head and wrapped his clawed hands around the drink before him. “You could say that. I just don’t want to scare our waitress.” Bringing the mug to his lips, he quirked a smile and added, “Well… not again, at least.” They would probably never know what exactly had spooked the human girl when they first entered the establishment, but the way her eyes had gone to Genji’s head made him think she had merely noticed his small antlers and mistaken him for a tiefling.

“An admirable goal,” Zenyatta inclined his head. “As you were saying… there was somewhere you wished to visit while we are traveling the border?”

“There is,” he confirmed, setting his drink back on the small table between them. Despite the years they’d traveled together, Genji still avoided his master’s gaze when he asked a favor, observing the minute ripples in his tea rather than look at the warforged. “The Helix Guard garrison is only a few days from here. I heard that several of the old Overwatch members joined the Guard after its fall, so I thought it might be… well, I’d like to see them again. I know it’s a bit closer to Vishkar than you’re comfortable with, but…”

“Genji,” he looked up at Zenyatta, slightly embarrassed despite knowing almost exactly what his master was going to say, “of course we can visit your friends. The risk is worth rekindling old bonds… if that is what you wish to do.” The warforged monk leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. Years had taught him that his master was smiling the only way he could.

Genji let out a happy sigh and grinned. He wasn’t truly “friends” with anyone from the old paladin order – he had been too upset at his brother and his own body to really make friends in the first place – but that was something he always regretted. Many of the order were wonderfully colorful people; the draconic man just hadn’t noticed it at the time. “Thank you, master. I swear, it will be a worthwhile trip for you as…” Genji trailed off, his sensitive ears twitching as a soft, faraway sound caught his attention.

“What’s wrong?”

The ambient noise in the tavern made it hard for him to pinpoint the noise or determine what it was… but it was getting louder. A steady whump-whump that made him think of a falcon’s wings batting the air as it tried to settle on his outstretched hand. Genji began to stand up, brows drawing together as he tried to focus on the sound. “I don’t know… Something – wingbeats, perhaps… but I can’t quite hear it.”

Zenyatta tilted his head to see if he could catch a trace of the noise, but he needn’t have bothered. Within mere moments, it became loud enough to hear among the din of the tavern chatter. A few moments more, and it could be heard clearly. Several conversations died down as the patrons took note, and in the sudden lull, Genji realized what it was. “Yes,” he said, looking down at the warforged monk, eyes wide in confusion. “It is the sound of wings, but no bird is that large. Master, is it-”

A high-pitched screech stopped whatever question or response the two wanderers had, and the crash that followed from the town square found them leaping to their feet as they were the first out the door. Genji’s tail smacked a few farmers who had also stood to see what was happening to their town, but he didn’t care at the moment. The only creatures capable of such heavy wingbeats and piercing cries were not common to this region. And almost all were dangerous. He dug his talons into the hard packed earth to give himself additional momentum to catch up to his master, who’s metal body belied a fleetness of foot few humans could match. As they turned a corner leading to the town square, Zenyatta stopped beside a stall whose owner had fled, and the draconic man nearly ran right into him, pausing to take in the scene.

What he saw made him gasp.

The square was nearly devoid of people besides those who looked capable or simply brave enough to approach the downed creature. Golden feathers and fur marked it as a gryphon, as did its furious screeching and snapping at all who dared get too close. Its wings, presumably at once time majestic and full, were scraggly and dotted with fresh blood… far too much for it to belong solely to the beast. A leather saddle was hanging on by mere threads between its shoulders, held together by the firm hand of its rider. Said rider was in no less poor condition, her face scratched and sky blue armor battered nearly beyond repair.

All of which hardly registered to the draconic man when his eyes fell to the gryphon’s second passenger: a blonde-haired woman decked in chainmail bearing the symbol of the sun god. From her back sprouted two white-feathered wings tucked closely against her body. She was in a similar state but looked far less exhausted as she had already gotten up and was trying to haul her companion to her feet.

“Angela?” Genji nearly yelled, stunned to see the woman who had saved his life all those years ago. “What…?”

Angela’s head snapped to look at the person who had called out to her. If there was any recognition at all, the pure terror written on her face concealed it. Her eyes widened, and she gave a choked sob. “Please help! I’m out of healing spells, but she’s still hurt! Please!”

The way her voice cracked brought Genji back to the present, where there was an injured woman who needed medical attention. He looked around frantically; he was just a rogue, skilled in larceny and the like but an unknown to the healing arts. A cold, metal hand on his shoulder was all that grounded him. “I will bring the local healer here. You will help them get to a safer location.”

Genji nodded and moved towards the women and their screaming mount. He didn’t need to look to know that Zenyatta was already gone. He trusted his master’s words; the warforged would get the help they needed. In the meantime, the draconic man hefted the unknown woman’s arm over his shoulder, unsurprised to see that she was out like a candle in a rainstorm.

“Angela,” he ventured again as he helped the cleric carry the other woman out of range of the gryphon’s talons and wings, “what happened? Who is this? And why are you here?”

A moment passed where Angela didn’t respond, and Genji wondered if he hadn’t spoken loud enough, but she did blink and look up at him. He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were watery, tears threatening to fall now that she was most likely out of immediate danger. “I… I don’t know. I got there too late, and… and they were all dead. All… most of them, at least…”

“Angela… who? Who is them?”

She shook her head and looked away. The way she shuddered signaling that her tears had finally fallen. “The… the Helix Guard. Someone attacked their stronghold… It’s… it’s gone. The garrison is all… gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty abrupt call to action... but I wanted to get the ball rolling as soon as possible. Updates probably won't happen every day, but I had a few days off, so I've been able to write more.
> 
> As always, comments and critiques are always appreciated. (Also, let me know if you like my cliffhangers; I don't often use them.)


	4. And We're Walking...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji and Angela take a walk.

The resident healer was a spindly old elven woman who shooed Angela and Genji out of the room as soon as they laid her on the bed. She spared the winged cleric a single glance before telling her apprentice to tend to her wounds, which were apparently just superficial scratches. Genji would’ve breathed a sigh of relief if the elf had given any hint as to what the other woman’s condition was. As it was, the draconic man sat cross-legged on the healer’s cottage porch beside Zenyatta, trying his best to meditate.

It wasn’t working. Too many questions swirled in his head to focus on anything else. What happened to the Helix Guard? Was anyone else alive? Were they in danger this far from the garrison? And who was the other woman, the one with the tattoo under her right eye? The draconic man’s tail thumped quickly against the wood boards, the only outward sign of his anxiety.

“Genji,” Zenyatta finally sighed, his voice cool like a gust through a cave. “Calm yourself. I know you are worried, but this is the good healer’s livelihood, her job. Your friends are in good hands.”

“It’s not that,” he replied, slouching on his knees a bit as he looked sidelong at his master. “The Helix Guard is supposed to be unbeatable. Who could be powerful enough to topple them? Surely if Vishkar had launched an assault, there would be news about it.”

The warforged monk steepled his fingers and rested his face against them. It was a distinctly human gesture that Zenyatta had learned to mimic from years of watching the elders at his temple deliberate on various topics. Genji looked back at the floorboards; his master wouldn’t be saying anything for a while. He had too much to ponder at the moment.

It was half an hour later before anyone came out of the house. Genji hopped to his feet the moment he heard the door creak open and saw the healer’s apprentice leading Angela out. Her skin was clean of dirt and blood, glowing with faint, golden warmth that felt muted by how she stared off at the ground, the visual equivalent of a sigh.

“Mira will let you know if anything changes,” he told the cleric. The apprentice waited until she nodded and thanked him before dashing back inside.

When Angela didn’t do anything immediately, Genji stepped in front of her. He took her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. Something clicked in her mind at the touch, and she met his gaze for the first time since their panicked reunion. “I’m alright…” she exhaled, a small smile gracing her lips. “I’m just a bit tired.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

Angela shook her head slightly. “No. I’d much rather be out walking, but I’m…”

“Worried?”

“Yes,” she sighed, taking his other hand and giving him a melancholy smile. “But… I’m glad to see you again, Genji. After what happened, it’s nice to see someone else from Ove- a friendly face, that is.”

She caught herself from revealing his past affiliations, and the stutter wasn’t lost on him. Zenyatta was, after all, a stranger from her point of view. And people’s reactions to Overwatch were a far more mixed bag than the glowing admiration seen back in its heyday. “He already knows. It’s okay,” the draconic man said as he nodded at the warforged monk. “And if a walk would help, take one. We’ll be here when you get back.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to impose if you have things to do.” Angela glanced down again, nearly yanking her hands out of Genji’s when she saw he hadn’t let go. Her cheeks turned the softest shade of pink as she looked back up. “I, ah, also don’t feel like being alone. Childish, I know, but this has been a… a dreadful day.”

“It’s no imposition at all, my child,” Zenyatta spoke up, the interjection causing both to jump slightly. “If we had something to do, then we would’ve left after Mira took over. I’m sure Genji wouldn’t mind accompanying you on your walk, as well, so please, do what you need to.”

“I…” The cleric wrung her hands together, her wings fluttering against her back. Genji held her his hand out to her, a small gesture to let her know it was okay. After a moment’s deliberation, she took the offered hand. “Well, I suppose if I’m not keeping you two. If Fareeha wakes up, then please let her know I’m fine and will be right back.”

Zenyatta inclined his head, and waved the two off, Genji leading Angela as he was slightly more familiar with the town. They walked in relative silence for a few minutes before the winged cleric broke it with a heavy sigh.

“Genji, you… you have no idea how happy I was to see you. I saw so many others from Overwatch today… all dead or dying or… or charging back into the fray. I wasn’t even at the battle itself.” She let out another sigh. The draconic man was slightly worried that she would sigh her lungs out with how much she was doing it. “I wish I could’ve been there at the start of it. Then maybe I could’ve made a difference.”

Genji’s tail anxiously flicked back and forth behind them. They hadn’t worked incredibly closely under the paladin order, but he knew that her skills were far from useless, even mid-way through a battle. Tightening his grip ever so slightly, he leaned down so their eyes were on the same level. “I’m sure you did more than you think. What could have happened that you believe you didn’t?”

Angela slowed to a stop, and the draconic man spun around so they were facing each other. Her eyes were still downcast, but it was nowhere near as dazed as earlier. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. No one could spare a moment to explain, but I heard explosions, and arcane chanting… A force at least a dozen strong were coming towards the barracks when Fareeha threw me on her gryphon and flew us away… But not many of the Guard still breathed when we left.” Her shoulders sunk a bit, as if weighed down by armor heavier than what she wore. “She was injured before we took off, but a stray magic missile caught her in the side. That was hours ago…”

Maybe it was how utterly defeated she looked in that moment or the way she leaned forward a bit, but Genji couldn’t think of anything better than to wrap his arms around her shoulders. Angela didn’t stiffen or flinch away from his touch, and he could feel the celestial warmth coming from her skin even more keenly as he stroked her back in a comforting manner. “I think you did the right thing. Gryphons are a lot faster than most creatures, so we have plenty of warning about these attackers, whatever they are.” _And I’m glad you’re safe, too_.

Angela leaned her head against his collar and nodded. “Thank you, Genji. You’re right. I should think on the positive side; even if I could not help at the garrison, I still have time to help here.” The tremble in her body said that she might not believe all of her words, but it was a step in the right direction. She pushed herself out of his arms soon after and flashed a small smile. “How about we keep moving? I think some of the children are staring.”

Genji chuckled as he realized that their embrace had indeed attracted the wandering eyes of some young human children who’d just discovered ball games. He snorted at their dramatic expressions of disgust at touching a girl and continued leading his old friend through town. Their conversation drifted to lighter topics like Angela’s recent work with the Pelorite church and a few of Genji’s more interesting travel destinations, and soon an hour had passed.

They had chosen to take a break to sit beside a seamstress’s shop when quick yet heavy footfalls drew both their attentions. The warforged monk flitted through the sparse crowd like a leaf in a storm, stopping nearby so he could walk up to them like most normal people did. “It seems your walk was the right medicine for you, then,” Zenyatta said. “But you wished to know your friend’s condition, and I’m glad to say that she will live. She is also awake and quite worried about Angela, so you may want to wrap up your conversation before she breaks down poor Mira’s door to find you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may not have been a hugely necessary chapter, but I thought it might be good to establish a bit of character relationships. Please let me know what y'all thought of it.
> 
> Ship update: I've decided to go with Hanzo/Reinhardt, but I'm still undecided about other ships. I'm still leaning towards Meicer and Symmrat, and I might add McPharah in too, but we'll see what happens.
> 
> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.


	5. A Shot in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hanzo keeps getting interrupted or distracted.

The smell of pine filled the air, made stronger still by the sun beating down on the canopy. Its sharpness cut through the damp scent left by a rainstorm that passed only a few hours ago. It grounded Hanzo in the moment, where there was just him, his bow, and the deer grazing a mere thirty yards ahead. The old buck nibbled on a berry bush, his form obscured by the patchy light that made it through the higher branches. Every minute or so, he would jerk his head back and look around, ears twitching in all directions, before resuming his meal.

_He’s on guard,_ the archer noted. _He knows I’m nearby. I must make this quick._ If only it were that easy; in an effort to remain hidden, Hanzo had crawled along the ground, chest pressed into the dirt and bow slung over his shoulder. He was close enough for a precise, clean kill, but one could not fire an arrow from the ground. In the windless lull, the archer was keenly aware of every little noise he made as he pushed himself up, each crunch of a twig, every breath, every little sound he made without thinking about it. That hyperawareness funneled into an acute focus on the deer’s actions. It didn’t do anything differently despite the racket it felt like he was making, and that was fine.

Hanzo rose to one knee, bringing his longbow up to full draw. The arrow was trained on the buck’s heart; it would be dead within minutes. A painless death. Just a little more…

“Bee-boop! Zwoo-wee!”

The archer screamed internally as a harsh, metallic chirping rang out from behind him. He closed his eyes and growled under his breath as his prey startled and bolted off, disappearing into the trees. It didn’t matter what he did now; the beeping from his companion had most likely scared off every animal within a mile radius. Honestly, it was a small miracle that Bastion could move through the undergrowth without making a sound. Which was how they had gotten so close to Hanzo without him noticing. It wasn’t until they were closing the last few feet between them that the archer heard the warforged’s soft footsteps.

“Doot do boop vwee?”

Hanzo let out a long, annoyed sigh as he lowered his bow and fixed Bastion with a fiery glare. “I don’t care,” he said, careful to enunciate each word just so they’d know what a colossal waste of his time this was. “You may not have to eat, but _I do_. Now leave, or I’ll find a way to cook construct.”

Bastion’s gears whirred as they jerked back. They were unable – or merely unwilling – to speak in any known language, so every movement had to convey their intent and meaning. When Hanzo didn’t look away, the warforged hung their head, and their shoulders drooped. “Doot dee do…” they chirped sadly, holding their only humanoid hand out to the archer. Their other arm – the entire forearm, in fact – had been replaced with a longsword, a worn-down remnant from a past life. During their first meeting, Hanzo had thought that perhaps they had more in common than he expected.

Now, it was a reminder that Bastion was far too childish to have any amount of responsibility.

Hanzo scoffed at the outstretched hand. He saw the ripe peaches between their fingers, but it was a poor consolation. Returning the arrow to his quiver, the archer stood to his full height. There was no longer a reason to remain hidden when the warforged beside him was a full head and a half taller than he was. “I’m going back to camp. Join me if you must.”

“Dyoop…”

The walk back was uneventful, though Hanzo was always unnerved by how loud his footsteps were compared to the warforged druid. He increased his pace just to get there faster, so he wouldn’t have to listen to the quiet any longer than necessary. Camp wasn’t much more than a makeshift fire pit and a tent pitched in a clearing by an aspen grove, but it was easy enough for them to find. Years of living off the land had left them with excellent sense of direction and an eye for landmarks. Not that they needed such as the man tending the fire was quite easy to see. With his wide-brimmed hat and red serape, Hanzo and Bastion could spot him easily, even through the bramble and trees.

“Well howdy there,” the man hollered as they approached, standing up to greet them. “Was wondering when you’d get back, though from the look of things, it didn’t go that well.”

Hanzo opened his mouth to reply with his usual venom, but a brown and white hawk swooped down, nearly colliding with his chest before flapping vigorously to reorient itself at the archer’s shoulder. His train of thought momentarily derailed, he patted the bird’s feathers gently. “It did not,” Hanzo replied, only a fraction of his annoyance making it through. “Our _friend_ here made sure of that.”

The other man sighed, a wistful smile gracing his lips as he lifted his arms in a defeated shrug. “Oh well, what can you do? Guess it’s another night of rations and bark. I’d ask Tara to get us a rabbit, but I don’t want to be the one to separate a wolf and her meal.” He chuckled a bit and scratched the head of the wolf at his side, a lanky, grey girl who softly woofed at the attention.

“Indeed,” the archer nodded. “But at least she will listen to you, Jesse.”

Bastion was greeting their own animal companion – a yellow bird the others had yet to identify – with a series of chirps and whistles, but the way they slumped told him they had heard. With tentative steps, they went up to Jesse and offered their handful of peaches. “Boo-weep?”

“For me? Ah, well, thank ya kindly,” he tipped his hat to the warforged and took the yellow-skinned fruit, tossing one in his hand before lobbing it at the archer. Hanzo caught it with ease, though his scowl didn’t lessen. “Least we’re not going completely hungry. C’mon, we got a few hours before dusk settles in and the huntin’ gets better. Might as well take a load off and enjoy the afternoon.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. Some days, he felt like the only one in their little party who took things seriously. Regardless, the archer sat down cross-legged by the fire next to where Jesse had plopped down on a small boulder. Bastion took a seat a bit further back than the two men, and soon they had the cowboy’s wolf curling up by their side.

“Tara, you traitor,” Jesse scoffed jokingly. “My lap’s much more comfy. Oh well, suit yourself, ya weird pup…” He wiped some peach juice from his beard and looked back to Hanzo. His smile hadn’t faltered in the slightest since they returned, but there was a certain something in his demeanor that told the archer his friend was no longer just joking around. “Anyway, didn’t see any poachers in the northern woods. Don’t know about across the border, but the birds weren’t going crazy, so I think it’s good there, too. Hey, Bastion! Thanks for the peaches. They’re perfect.”

Hanzo looked at the fruit in his hand before raising it to his lips and taking a bite. Jesse was certainly right; it was as if the warforged had picked it at the peak of ripeness, where it was just sweet enough for the bitterness to be palatable. _I will give them some credit_ , he pondered as he thoughtfully took another bite. _For a construct, they have good taste._

“So,” Jesse let out a breath as he finished his food, planting the pit in the ground between his feet, “more archery practice or do you want to do something actually fun today?”

The archer was about to throw the cowboy a thoroughly displeased look before something caught his attention. Well, it caught all of their attention, actually.

It was an explosion, soft from having echoed in the distance, but still easy to hear. The men both straightened and turned in the sound’s direction, while their animals jumped, Ganymede and Hanzo’s hawk flapping into the air.

“Chirr chirr, twee!”

They were on their feet within moments of Bastion’s distressed whistling. Jesse knelt down by his wolf, stroking her fur even as she hunched over in fear. Hanzo just narrowed his eyes and made a beeline for the nearest tree that peaked over the canopy. He didn’t slow at all as he reached for the branches, pulling himself higher and higher into its leaves. His hawk cried out and flew up to be near his master, gliding around when the archer poked his head above the topmost foliage.

“What do your dragon eyes see up there, Hanzo?”

Hanzo ignored the man’s obvious jest. He had made it no secret that he had the blood of dragons in his veins, but he looked mostly human. Even the small, blue scales dotting his body were easily covered by his usual garb. His eyes, however, were a bit sharper than normal. And with that increased vision, he could easily spot a line of smoke just beginning to rise from the nearby hills where the forest became sparser. As he watched, that line of smoke quickly became a plume that darkened until it was a splotch against the horizon.

“I see smoke rising from the east, in the Golden Hills.”

Down below, Jesse craned his neck to watch the archer and his hawk. “I’m guessing Kai doesn’t see much more, huh? But the Golden Hills… ain’t that where the Helix garrison is?”

Hanzo nodded before remembering that neither of his companions could see from where they were. “I believe so. Perhaps one of their magicians finally made a fatal mistake.”

“Doubtful. They don’t have many mages, anyway. Want to check it out?”

The archer frowned and looked to Kai, but the hawk merely perched and began sharpening his beak on the wood. “I suppose we should. At least to make sure no one’s summoned something unsavory.”

Jesse’s laugh could be heard even high in the trees, as could Bastion’s cheerful chirping, and within minutes, they had broken down camp and were on their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Druid!Bastion is now my favorite Bastion.
> 
> Anyways, as always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. I'm really looking to improve my writing, so if you see anything that could be better, please let me know.


	6. One Way to Entertain an Alchemist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamison has never been very good at waiting.

“So, uh… why’re we still hangin’ around ‘ere?”

Satya pinched the bridge of her nose in anticipation of the headache she knew was coming. This wasn’t the first time Jamison had pestered her about their activities, and it almost certainly wouldn’t be the last. It might not have bothered the mage-crafter so much if it had been over the course of a week… but it hadn’t even been a full day since their assault ended. She could hear the clomp of his boot and thunk of his peg leg planting in the wood floor just behind her and sighed. _May as well get this over with… again._

Composing herself, Satya turned on her heel, hands folded neatly behind her back, and looked at the mongrelfolk. “I have told you before our reasoning for staying put. It has not changed since the last time you asked. We are staying because this garrison is in a beneficial tactical position. We will hold it until reinforcements arrive from Vishkar, and then we will move to our next assignment.” _Hopefully different assignments, if the fates favor me._

Jamison let out a puff of air, not quite a huff, and mumbled something that sounded like, “I knew that.” His eyes darted back and forth, following an invisible line only he could see that kept him from looking her in the eye. The mage-crafter knew that he could be confident and forthcoming when he wanted to be. His performance in their attack had proven that he was more than capable of diving right into whatever situation caught his attention, so his hesitance over the state of their plans didn’t make much sense to her.

Not that it mattered.

“Your eagerness and enthusiasm are quite appreciated, Jamison, but our plans require some amount of waiting. Surely you can do that much.” She turned back to the garrison ledgers she’d been pouring over earlier, sure that the mongrelfolk’s attention would run out. The Helix Guard was an elite force, and as such, they had been privy to more sensitive information than most of the other Omnica army camps patrolling the border. If she could find where that information was stashed, then this mission would be all the better for Prince Pyjahr. So far, though, most of the captain’s books were on trivial things, like food expenses.

Satya was flipping through another book when the clearing of a throat caught her attention. She realized that Jamison was still in the room, that he had never left even after she dismissed him. Letting out a heavy sigh and glancing to the heavens, the mage-crafter turned around again, smoothing down her blue robes out of habit. “Our presence has not gone unnoticed. Other garrisons will be deploying their own troops to investigate what has occurred here. Your explosives will be of far greater use if you could set them up ahead of time… Perhaps such that they go off on their own when someone passes by. Now, do you have any other reason to disturb me, or are you going to do something useful now?”

The mongrelfolk pouted and began twiddling his thumbs, his eyes still darting around the room. “I knew these blokes were a thorn in your side an’ all, but I didn’t think it was tha’ big a deal. An’ I like bein’ called Jamie better…”

“I will call you whatever I please, _Jamison_.” She tipped her head back just enough so she was looking down her nose at him. It was a calculated action meant to reinforce that she was his superior in this situation, but she was also keenly aware that the only reason she could even look down at him was because he was hunched over. Satya had to admit she was grateful he did so; it made him appear far less threatening and more amiable. “And the Helix Guard was far more than a thorn. Their aerial support has turned the tide of multiple battles, making any advances more costly than our majesty is willing to expend. With them gone, we now have the advantage and opening to push towards our next objectives. Now please, set up your traps while we still have the opening to do so.”

A knock at the door caused the mage-crafter to jump slightly. Her intense focus could be a boon when a battle could interrupt her spellcasting, but it just made her more susceptible to being startled otherwise. She mentally chastised herself for narrowing her concentration so much just for the mongrelfolk’s benefit. Jamison had already looked over his shoulder to see the newcomer standing in the open doorway and waved.

Said newcomer was one of Satya’s subordinates, one of the few eldritch knights whose job it was to keep enemies away from the other mages with both sword and sorcery. He was a comely person, too elegant in features to be a human, which his slightly pointed ears made quite clear. Muted red and violet hues adored his plated armor, a small enchantment causing the colors to shift and waver slightly, giving him the appearance of a walking sunset. He bowed to the two and held it until Satya acknowledged his presence.

“What is it, Yoku? Do you have something to report?” the mage-crafter asked, suppressing the slight quiver in her voice through sheer willpower.

The half-elf straightened back to his full height and nodded. “Yes, Lady Vaswani. Our scryers have detected a small group heading towards the garrison. Two humanoids and a warforged of an odd make. Unknown affiliation, but we believe them to be rangers or otherwise associated with a druid circle.” Yoku gave a small scoff and a smile before adding, “They are not moving quite as fast as they could be, so I believe they are attempting to remain stealthed. I highly doubt they are aware of our capabilities. What would you like us to do?”

Before she could say anything, Jamison whirled back to Satya, a huge grin on his face showing his unusually sharp teeth. His fingers were tapping against his thighs in irregular patterns, as if doing calculations only he knew. The mage-crafter pursed her lips, but she had to admit that she was kind of glad for the intrusion. It would give Jamison and his associate something to do that wasn’t bothering her.

Satya inclined her head to both men. “Our orders are to eliminate all opposition. Tell my mages to prepare to engage these newcomers with extreme prejudice. Jamison,” she turned to face the mongrelfolk, “you will do the same. Set up when Yoku tells you to. I will be joining the others in a little while. You are dismissed.”

Yoku bowed and backed out of the room, waiting a moment for Jamison to join him. The mongrelfolk wasn’t quite as prompt, giggling almost maniacally as he bounced and hobbled up to the doorway. “Oh, this is gonna be fun!” He threw a wink back to Satya. “Ya won’t regret sendin’ me an’ Mako out first.”

The mage-crafter sighed as the two men made their way outside, wondering how much more research she could do over the garrison’s ledgers before the fighting began. “So long as we achieve our objective, you may have as much _fun_ as you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'll be picking up the pace within a few chapters. Just gotta set things up before I start knocking them all down.
> 
> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. In fact, I'd really like to know if y'all are enjoying the current pacing of this fic. I'm always looking to improve, so even small stuff is important to me.


	7. Like Herding Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira is 100% done with trying to keep these kids out of danger... and Fareeha finally meets the rest of the group.

Even with her eyes closed, the world felt like it was spinning. Fareeha groaned and raised her hands to her face, wondering, in her drowsy state, why her body hurt so much. Training hadn’t been that difficult yesterday. Nassor had done the brunt of the heavy lifting during their aerial exercises, and the cavalier herself merely maintained her halberd. None of that would leave a burning sensation across her shoulder, in her side, and…

Wait…

Fareeha’s eyes flew open as the past few hours came back to her in a rush. She bolted upright, throwing back the covers even as her body screamed for her to take it slow. This wasn’t the barracks. This was not her cot. And that was not her drill sergeant.

“Where am I?” the cavalier demanded of the elven woman standing in the doorway. Blood pounded in her head, but she pushed it to the back of her mind as much as possible. She wouldn’t dare show a shred of weakness so long as she was in the dark. “And where’s Angela? And my mount? Did anyone else from the garrison make it?”

The poor woman let out a heavy sigh, obviously more than used to receiving harsh treatment from others. Crossing her arms, she raised an eyebrow and gave an answer, albeit in her own way, “What a rude child. You are in Karashoft, I don’t know where your friend is right now, your gryphon’s doing god knows what in the tavern barn, I sincerely hope yours is the only gryphon to crash in our square, and I just used most of my good healing spells making sure you didn’t bleed out on the floor. You’re welcome. Oh! And my name’s Mira. Thanks for asking.”

Fareeha was shocked at the elf’s bluntness, so much so that she didn’t object to Mira coming closer to poke at her shoulder and ribs. At least, not until she started tucking the cavalier back under the covers. “I… I need to make sure Angela is safe,” she said, batting the elder lady’s hands away even as she scooted herself closer to the edge. “Thank you for all your help, but I need to go.”

“Your friend is fine,” Mira snapped, and Fareeha noticed for the first time how her eyes were puffy and ringed by faint dark circles. “My apprentice patched her up earlier. She only had scratches… unlike you. Now go back to sleep, and you’ll finish healing quicker.”

The cavalier shook her head, stopping when her temples began to throb. She slid fully off the cot and paused when her feet touched the floor, acclimating to the sensation of standing upright again. None of the clothes she had on were her own, she realized, noticing the feel of the blouse and trousers were unlike anything she had. “I’m fine, really,” Fareeha insisted. “I’ve endured more in training and been fine afterwards. I just need my clothes, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The sound of metal feet on wood drew her attention back to the doorway, where a warforged appeared, one hand on the door frame as he peered in. “I apologize for the intrusion, Mira, but I your voices were raised. Is everything… alright?” His voice was unlike any other warforged she had heard. It sounded less like the grinding of stones and more like a wind racing through a cave. Something about it made her feel slightly more at ease.

Which was a feeling not shared by the poor, elven woman. “Of all the… !” she groaned, looking to the ceiling as she threw her hands up. A long string of Elven left her mouth in a hurried fashion, with Fareeha only able to understand a few choice words. Mostly insults and curses. After a few moments of venting, Mira let her face drop into her hand. “Just… just go get that Angela girl. I’m done trying to get this spitfire back in bed.” She stomped over to an old rocking chair and plopped down into it, letting out yet another annoyed groan.

The warforged turned his head to the elf, then back to the cavalier, then back again. “Very well. Angela left for a walk with Genji roughly an hour ago, though, so it may take a bit to find them.” Looking to Fareeha, he inclined his head. “I will bring Angela here as soon as I can, so please relax. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you straining yourself for her sake, miss…?”

A moment passed before she recognized the slight lift in his voice that meant he was asking a question. She startled a bit trying to answer him faster. “Fareeha. Fareeha Amari. And you’re…”

“Tekhartha Zenyatta. I’ll return shortly, Fareeha.” He gave another slight bow and hurried away, leaving the two women in silence.

And that silence just stretched on. True to her word, Mira didn’t try to force the cavalier back into the bed, choosing instead to pull a book off the nightstand and begin flipping through the yellowing pages. Fareeha rocked on her heels for a minute or two before looking for her own clothing. The healer’s house wasn’t very large, and she found Mira’s apprentice buffing out the dents in her armor up with minor spells. The shirt and trousers she wore under it were beyond repair, soaked in blood from her injuries and burnt where spells had struck. The apprentice quietly informed her that she could keep what she had on, as it was apparently extras the elven woman kept for her patients. With nothing better to do but wait, the cavalier sat down in the living room, hoping that her friend would return swiftly.

It wasn’t much longer when she heard the flapping of wings approaching the front door. Fareeha stood up immediately and went to open the door, her body still protesting the sudden movements. She thought it was worth it, though, as she saw Angela half-jogging and half-flying back to the house, followed by Zenyatta and a man with green hair and a long, scaly tail.

“Thank Pelor you’re alright,” the cleric sighed in relief, resting a hand over her heart as she landed on the porch. “I was worried we may not have gotten here, to the town, in time.”

Fareeha gave a soft smile. Given what Mira had told her about Angela’s condition when they arrived, she knew she shouldn’t have been so worried herself, but it was a relief all the same to see that her panicked flight hadn’t been in vain. “It’s good to see you safe, as well.” Glancing back at the man she didn’t recognize, who had stopped by their side along with the warforged. There was something unsettling about his appearance… and it wasn’t just the draconic features that were immediately obvious. Now that she really looked at him, she could see that his pupils were slightly slit, just enough to look inhuman. Just like Angela’s soft, golden glow made her seem unearthly. Fareeha shook the thought away. “I’ve met Zenyatta, but who’s your other friend?”

“Ah, right! Introductions,” the winged cleric clapped her hands together, like she’d forgotten something basic. “This is Genji Shimada. We worked together in Overwatch.”

The draconic man bowed. “It’s nice to meet you. While you’re not unconscious, at least.”

Fareeha chuckled at his attempt at a joke. She couldn’t get a clear idea of who this man was, but Angela seemed to trust him, so the cavalier would as well. “Likewise. Now that we’re all acquainted, I must send word to Oxastol about the attack.”

“Do you know what happened?” Genji inquired.

The cavalier raised her eyebrows at him. “Angela didn’t tell you?”

Angela shook her head and sighed, “If I’d known what happened, then I would’ve said so. I arrived when the battle was already underway; you never told me what started it.”

“I… guess we didn’t have much time to explain, did we?” Fareeha could feel her cheeks going red. She hadn’t realized that the cleric wasn’t there for the entire assault, even though it was somewhat obvious in hindsight. “I’ll tell you the whole story… after we send a runner to the Oxastol captain.” A grumbling from her stomach punctuated the pause and reminded her that she hadn’t had a thing to eat since last night’s supper. “And perhaps we can do so over a meal. Almost dying makes one quite hungry, it seems.”

* * * * * * * * * *

They easily gathered a few messengers to relay the important facts to Oxastol, the nearest city where a large military force was stationed. The town crier also began spreading the news of the attack. Within hours, it would be common knowledge, and in the meantime, the small group found themselves at the tavern.

After a bowl of stew and a drink to dull the pain that lingered in her side, Fareeha relayed what she knew. The attack began early in the morning, only a few guards awake to respond immediately to the sudden arrival of dozens of Vishkar mages just beyond the garrison walls. No threats were delivered, and they began bombarding the garrison. The captain quickly mobilized the Guard to retaliate, and it would’ve been an easy victory… if the initial assault hadn’t just been a distraction. A huge explosion from the rear wall was as large as it was unexpected, and a strike force of elite knights and mages entered through the breach. The captain had been the first to fall from a magical bolt from behind. In the sudden lack of direction, the Vishkari ramped up the attack, leaving them no time to regroup. It was purely dumb luck that Fareeha was able to scoop up Angela and escape, as the mages had crippled most of the others’ gryphons even as a few attempted to get backup.

What happened next was unknown to the two women, but they could guess. When the cavalier finished her tale, the rest of the group was quiet for a good few minutes, pondering why the attack might’ve happened when it did. One thing was sure, though: without the Helix Guard to support the border guards, Omnica would be at a disadvantage the next time Vishkar pushed to invade. Perhaps that was all the reason they needed.

“So, what do you plan to do now?” Zenyatta was the first to speak, directly his question at the sullen cavalier.

Fareeha rested her chin on her hands, which were clasped in front of her. “I’m going back. Some of the others may still have been able to escape, and they may need my help.” Angela looked like she was about to object, but the cavalier shot her a determined stare. “They’re my family. If there’s even a chance one of them can be saved, I need to try.”

The winged cleric looked down at her bowl of half-eaten stew. She sighed heavily, defeated before there was even a battle. “I… understand. But let me come with you. I can keep you patched up, at least a bit.” Fareeha considered objecting herself, but decided that it would be quite hypocritical of her to deny help with what she was planning to do. The cavalier nodded slowly, heart sinking ever so slightly at how happy Angela looked to be able to offer her aid. She turned to her side, meeting Genji’s eyes as he calmly considered everything being said. “I hate asking this, especially since you’re in the middle of your travels, but, Genji… would you also come? I don’t know anyone else as good at scouting undetected as you are.”

Genji inclined his head towards both women. “Of course. I would never turn down a friend in need.” He grinned as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s a good thing I’ve kept my skills sharp. I haven’t had a chance to show off in a while.”

“And I will accompany you, as well,” Zenyatta stated. “I can’t very well just sit idly by and let my student risk his life.”

Fareeha smiled genuinely. So many people these days took any chance they could to avoid danger; it was nice that these folk at least were willing to help. “Thank you. I would welcome your aid, though let us hope it is not necessary. Now, how about another round of drinks before we go risk our lives?”

That was something all four of them could agree on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Mira has been my favorite OC to write so far. She and Dad76 would probably get along swimmingly.
> 
> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.


	8. Here, Little Piggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse, Hanzo, and Bastion get in way over their heads.

Jesse was prone to making mistakes and a lot of them. Some weren’t his fault, but the vast majority were a direct result of him doing some bone-headed stunt. The cowboy had done everything from tipping cattle before they were asleep to taking on Gabriel “The Reaper” Reyes with nothing but his fists. It was practically a miracle he’d lived as long as he had. Maybe it was. Maybe some god or goddess decided he was worth something and tipped their hand to let him live another day.

Or maybe some devil just enjoyed watching him get in over his head. That seemed a bit more likely as he dove behind a partially demolished building to avoid being hit by a blast of arcane fire.

Still hiding in the doorway Jesse had just come from, Hanzo glared. “Let’s see what happened, he said,” the archer hissed, nocking another arrow. “No one’s here, he said. This definitely seems like no one, idiot!” Another blast of fire hit the side of the building, causing the dust in the cracks to shake loose and coat the archer. Bastion stood behind him, their arms trembling with every crash of magic against the stone that shielded them.

“In my defense,” the cowboy shouted back, “they were hiding pretty darn well.” Hanzo scoffed at the other man’s excuse, but they all knew that he was telling the truth.

When the small group had arrived at the garrison, there had been no one in sight. Black plumes still rose from a few buildings, but given how there was a giant hole in the outer wall, Jesse expected to find a few smoking craters. What they hadn’t expected was for the top of the wall to explode once they’d gone inside. Ganymede and Kai had taken off immediately following the blast, their shrill calls alerting those below to several mages who wasted no time in attacking the group. Had there not been so much cover within reach, they would’ve perished right there. The garrison was comprised of several smaller buildings within the main perimeter wall, each made of stone and brick. It wasn’t designed to withstand vigorous, sustained assault, but it was enough.

Now they were dashing between patches of cover in an attempt to reach the main gate before the mages decided that fireballs might be more effective.

Jesse popped out from behind his building, firing a handful of arrows in rapid succession, providing at least some cover fire for Bastion to follow. Hanzo did the same but kept moving to join them after the warforged was in the clear. With all three out of sight, the barrage of spells ceased, and the patter of well-trained footsteps told that they were repositioning. A few scattered shouts informed both the other mages and the group that they’d lost sight of them. Both Jesse and the archer took the brief reprieve to check their arrow count.

“Reckon I got about five more shots before I’m out. You doing any better?”

Hanzo gave a terse nod. “Seven. So unless you have some brilliant plan on how we’ll retrieve our arrows, I suggest we hurry up.”

The cowboy sighed heavily. He didn’t like the sharpness in his friend’s tone, but he had good cause to be annoyed. Twelve shots between them wouldn’t be able to annoy the mages much less take them down.

Crouching down, Jesse waved for the others to follow. Staying as low to the ground as possible, they dashed along the side of the building. They’d been at this cat and mouse game for hours, and the gate was actually within sight after rounding a corner. It was halfway open, the body of a dead gryphon wedged under one side, keeping it from closing completely. Bastion made a low noise, one he’d only heard after they’d accidentally stepped on a bird’s nest. Hanzo didn’t even deign to acknowledge it, focusing on the two women in breastplate who stood between them and their escape. Behind them, more cries of “Find them!” and “They’re going for the gate!” rang out, and the guards were instantly alert.

“The intruders are here!” one shouted mere moments before a feathered shaft stuck in her shoulder. Hanzo growled, and Jesse knew that he’d been aiming somewhere else.

A moment later, the cowboy was also groaning, as the guards made a few gestures and small twisters of arcane energy began swirling around them, forcing the next volley of arrows to swerve and bury in the ground to their side. “Well, guess we’re gonna do this the hard way,” he exhaled as he drew his sword. Sparing the archer a look, he grinned. “You ready for a bit of exercise?”

Dashing out from behind the little cover they had, Jesse charged right at the one who was still reeling from the arrow in her shoulder. The blade easily cut through the wind barrier and sunk into her side. Before she could retaliate, he rolled to the side, giving Hanzo a clearer opening to run at the other guard. Unlike the cowboy, he didn’t have another weapon for close quarters combat, opting to just use his bow as if it were a club. Her eyes widened at the unexpected tactic, and that hesitation caused her scimitar to swing wide as the reinforced wood connected with her head.

“You’ll never escape!” the bleeding guard hissed even as her companion fell to the ground, too disoriented to give any more resistance. Jesse couldn’t help but let out a snort at the cliché line. _If we’ll never escape, then what’re we doin’ right now?_ he thought as he landed a solid punch on the back of her head and knocked her unconscious?

“Doot doo… twee?” Bastion chirped, their voice quieter than usual. It had taken months for the cowboy and archer to figure out what the warforged meant with their mechanical beeps and whistles, but that soft tone was one of the first things they learned.

Sheathing his sword, Jesse looked back at the approaching warforged and let his smile soften. “Don’t worry. They ain’t dead.”

Bastion’s shoulders visibly relaxed at his gentle affirmation. They were still careful about where they pointed their arm-blade, but their steps were far more fluid. Well, as fluid as a mechanical body could be.

Hanzo scoffed. He kept his back to the others as he made sure the guards were out cold. “It would be better for us if they could not inform the others of where we went.” Jesse hoped that he knew the archer wasn’t being completely serious, but he forgot to breathe for a moment anyway. The balance in their party was tenuous enough at the moment without instigating hostilities. After a tense moment, Hanzo let out a sigh. “But this will have to do. We should leave before we’re noticed. Again.” The archer rose and made quickly for the gate. Jesse would’ve been right alongside him, but Bastion wasn’t quite as fast as they were, and the cowboy didn’t want to get too far ahead of the warforged druid.

Hanzo was no more than a few strides from the opening when a flash of steel wrapped around his torso. Jesse barely registered it as a spiked chain before it was yanked back, knocking the archer to the ground and dragging him back to its owner.

And he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how such a man had snuck up on them.

The chain slackened, releasing Hanzo near the feet of a giant easily three times their size. His blue skin and stubby horns would’ve marked him as inhuman were it not for his size. His rotund belly rested over his belt holding up his trousers, which happened to be the only bit of clothing he seemed to own besides a pair of metal-tipped boots and a black leather mask. It gave the cowboy the impression of a pig. But not just any pig.

Wild boars were not like their pink-skinned cousins who lived cushy lives within a farmer’s well-placed fence. In the forest, adult hogs would sharpen their tusks to a razor point, leaving deep gouges in the bark that screamed to the rest of the woods that this was their territory. If tubers were hard to find, they would cry out and charge anything that moved, goring anything from rabbits to moose just to have a meal. Their unearthly squeals sent all animals, prey and predator, into hiding. However, it did little when a determined boar could dig up an elder tree by the roots. Even Bastion, in tune with nature as they seemed to be, went out of their way to avoid these aggressive creatures.

And “wild boar” was the only thing Jesse dared compare the warrior before them to. As Hanzo struggled to stand back up, he let out a deep, bloodthirsty laugh before raising a metal greatclub high into the air. It would’ve taken a normal person two hands just to lift that weapon, but this man did it with one hand so effortlessly that even a blind man could see where it would land. The cowboy was pretty sure the archer still wanted his head.

“Hanzo, move!” Jesse screamed, his voice nearly cracking. He drew an arrow, but he wouldn’t be able to fire in time since the large warrior began bringing the greatclub down.

Beside him, Bastion had been beeping and chirring continuously. He didn’t pay it much mind as they tended to do that when distressed. What he did pay attention to, though, was the arm-blade sinking itself into the dirt by his side, their whistling reaching a fever pitch. From their blade, what looked like a bolt of lightning – but buried beneath the topsoil – raced towards the warrior’s feet. A fraction of a second later, the earth in front of him exploded skywards with enough force to knock his head back.

The warrior’s swing went wide, missing Hanzo by several feet. The brief reprieve gave the archer just enough time to scramble up and stumble halfway to his friends. Jesse met him there, offering his shoulder as support as several jagged gashes across Hanzo’s chest began bleeding, staining the yellow of his sash an ugly red.

“You’ll pay for that, tin can,” the warrior growled, hefting his greatclub in one hand and spiked chain in the other. His voice was still deep and gruff, but it was now interspersed with wheezing. He dropped his chain to reach for his mask, which had been knocked askew in the eruption.

“Dwee! Dwee!” Bastion chirred, motioning wildly for the two men to fall back, already halfway back to the garrison buildings where they’d have cover.

Jesse would’ve hurried anyway, but his draconic friend’s slightly labored breaths and sputtering coughs gave him double the reason to hurry, hoping that in the time it took for this new foe to readjust his mask, they would be able to hide better than they had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thanks to Blanck for beta-ing this chapter. You're awesome!


	9. Cry Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While approaching the garrison, Genji, Fareeha, and Angela see a familiar face.

Despite taking to wing almost as soon as they were on the road, night was well and truly settled by the time the garrison was within sight. Were it not for Fareeha’s strong desire to make sure no one was in immediate danger, Genji would’ve suggested they make camp and wait until morning. Zenyatta actually put forth that idea as dusk fell hours earlier, but the trees thinned enough that the road was clearly visible even in the half-shadows of twilight. And the cavalier was determined.

Which was why Genji found himself pressed against Angela’s back with his arms around her shoulders as she carried they high into the air. It was too dark for a human or warforged to make out anything, but his eyes were far more dragon than human. To him, this darkness was nothing, and the garrison was as clear as it would be in full daylight. Angela could also see further in the light of the moon than others, though not nearly as well as he could. She could still see the road and land safely, though, something Fareeha’s gryphon, Nassor, couldn’t do at that moment.

“Do you see anyone? The walls look deserted,” the winged cleric asked.

Genji peered at the looming form of the garrison before him, taking in every detail he could. The wall did indeed look abandoned, but he could still catch glimpses of movement within the taller buildings. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to determine who was there. On occasion, what sounded like lesser explosions would go off within the walls, but that too didn’t mean much. He’d heard similar things when sitting beside the training grounds while mages practiced their spells. Genji sighed and shook his head. “Nothing you haven’t already noticed. I don’t know why they don’t have at least a token guard, though. Even if they are mages, as Fareeha described, magical wards can be fooled. They must know this.”

Angela nodded, letting out a slightly heavier sigh than usual. The longer they stayed airborne, the more her wings trembled with every beat, struggling to keep both their weights aloft. But she didn’t falter or complain. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

“I don’t know,” the draconic man replied. He hugged her shoulders a bit tighter, only barely noticing her contented sigh at the contact. If it were possible, Genji would’ve liked to stay up there in the cool, night air and talk of lighter things. There was so much he wanted to catch up on with her… and more than a little he needed to apologize for. But the reality of their situation didn’t leave much time – or ability – for things like that. “I don’t think I’ll see anything else from here. Why don’t we land and see what Fareeha and my master are doing?”

“That… might be for the best,” the winged cleric agreed without hesitation, letting them glide slowly back to the ground.

The rest of their group hadn’t moved far, Fareeha pacing in front of her gryphon as Zenyatta tended to a small campfire just off the road. The cavalier ran up to the two before Angela’s feet even touched the earth. “So? W-what did you see?”

Genji hopped down from Angela’s back, holding out an arm for her to lean on as her wings drooped in exhaustion. “Nothing we hadn’t already guessed,” he shook his head. “There weren’t any guards posted on the walls, but that was the only thing out of the ordinary.”

Fareeha’s face slowly fell, and she let her head fall into her hand. The trip hadn’t been that taxing to her, but in that moment, she looked the worst out of the three who could feel tiredness in their bones. “Then… I must’ve been the only one to escape… They’d expect reinforcements otherwise…”

Genji looked from Angela, to his master, and back to the cavalier again. The silence that stretched between them all as Fareeha tried to keep herself from crying was a nearly palpable presence, interrupted by a soft cough from the draconic man. “Well… we weren’t able to see into the garrison itself. It’s possible someone was captured… for information, if nothing else.”

There were a few things he expected Fareeha to do at hearing that hypothesis. Looking up in disbelief before suddenly sweeping both him and Angela into a hug was not one of them. “Yes! Y-you’re right. We say we’ll never allow ourselves to be captured… but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen! We have to free them.” This close, he could smell the lingering scent of whetstones and feathers clinging to her clothes and skin, but even more noticeable was the strain in her voice. The quiver of someone desperate to hold onto the last hope they had, no matter how slight.

 _They wouldn’t take captives, would they?_ Genji thought as he plastered a smile on his face. Angela hugged them loosely with none of Fareeha’s desperation in her grip, so he wouldn’t show his doubts either. A small hope was better than none.

“It sounds like we have a plan, then,” Zenyatta piped up, standing up to join them. “But we should wait until tomorrow to begin. We will do your friends little good without being able to see.”

“Yes! Yes, of course,” Fareeha said, just a bit too quickly. She looked back at the two still in her arms and sat Genji and Angela back on the ground, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head. “We’d better set up watch, then.”

They all went back to the fire and sat around it, discussing who would keep watch with Zenyatta and what their plan for the next day would be. Genji had just laid out his bedroll beside Angela’s when Nassor, who hadn’t moved since he curled up an hour earlier, flicked his ear tufts and looked around. Fareeha frowned and patted his shoulder. “What is it? Do you see something?”

The gryphon didn’t respond, only standing up and narrowing his focus on the road leading to the garrison. His behavior drew the party’s attention, and even Angela sat up with her blanket wrapped around her. Whatever it was, it was far enough away that it took a minute before Genji could make it out.

“It’s just a wolf,” he sighed, his tail thumping the ground in annoyance at the false alarm.

“Then it’s nothing to worry about,” the cavalier gave her mount a scratch behind his ear. “Wolves won’t go near you, right, Nassor?”

The gryphon didn’t lower his guard, and it soon became clear why. The wolf wasn’t changing course to avoid the obvious predator. In fact, it was making a beeline for them. Genji and Zenyatta hopped to their feet, and Angela scrambled off her bedroll. As the only caster among them, she must’ve known of spells that mimicked an animal’s appearance… spells that might not end well for their small group.

“Awwoo woo woo~oo!” the wolf cried out as it entered the light cast by the fire. Genji had readied a shuriken to deter it if it proved hostile, but that simple howl and the gray furs on its head made him sheath his blade in an instant. He recognized that wolf!

“Tara! What are you doing out here?” he asked, kneeling down with his arms out to show his friends not to attack. The wolf barked cheerfully as it bounded towards him, tongue lolling out like a puppy. Genji heard Zenyatta move closer behind him and looked back to the warforged monk. “She’s an old friend’s companion. No other dog or wolf howls like that.”

“That’s… Jesse’s wolf?” Fareeha lowered her halberd and put a hand on Nassor’s neck, a silent order not to attack. “Are you sure?”

Genji looked back to the wolf just as it closed the last few meters between them and leapt on the draconic man. He let out a grunt as she knocked him to the ground, half-pinned under her fluffy body. Immediately, she began licking his face and barking softly. “Very,” he laughed as he scratched behind her ears.

“She’s certainly grown,” Angela commented, stepping up beside him and petting Tara as well. “I almost didn’t recognize her. Does that mean Jesse’s nearby?”

If it was possible for a wolf to look serious, then Tara certainly did at hearing her master’s name. She backed off Genji and began gently tugging on his sleeve. Zenyatta and Fareeha crowded around them as the draconic man got to his feet, still caught in the wolf’s jaws.

“Where… is Jesse?” he hazarded, seeing how Tara’s eyes flicked back and forth between the members of their party. She ended on Genji, meeting his gaze in an almost human-like way. The wolf let go and turned to point back down the road with her nose before looking back to the group. A heavy knot settled in Genji’s stomach. She was pointing down the road… towards the garrison.

The garrison he’d heard spells being flung about in.

“Is he in danger? Was he captured?” Fareeha demanded of Tara, looming above her as if that would allow the wolf the gift of speech. “What happened? Why is he even here?!”

Tara whined pathetically and pulled on Genji’s sleeve again. She was only a wolf, not magically endowed with sentience like a wizard’s familiar, but her actions carried an urgency to them that was hard to ignore. As the others looked at her, Fareeha dashed back to her gryphon. Genji didn’t know what she was doing until she climbed into his saddle and sheathed her halberd across her back.

Zenyatta was the first to recover. “Miss Fareeha, please wait. You do not know what you are rushing into,” he pleaded.

The cavalier looked the rest of them in the eyes, and Genji saw something he’d often seen in his own eyes back when he, Angela, and Jesse worked together under the Overwatch paladins’ gaze. She would not be swayed, no matter how reckless her actions may be. Still, he had to try. “He’s right,” the draconic man added. “It didn’t sound like a battle, even from here. He’s probably hiding or was already captured.”

Fareeha shook her head. “I’m sorry, but if he is there, then he’s probably the only one still alive. And he’ll need our help. I won’t fail my family again.” A sharp click of her teeth, and Nassor leapt into the air, hovering for a moment with the hope that the rest would join her in this fool’s errand.

She was not disappointed, as Zenyatta put out the fire, and Genji and Angela threw their bedrolls back into their bags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.
> 
> And as November begins, so does National Novel Writing Month! And instead of starting up an entirely different project, I'll be continuing "When Dragons Cry" for NaNoWriMo. What this means is that updates might actually start being a bit more consistent as I'll finish chapters quickly but won't post a new chapter on consecutive days. With each update, I'll let y'all know where I am in terms of word count for NaNo. Hopefully this will be the year I finish 50,000 words during the month of November and complete NaNoWriMo.
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 1778


	10. Act Like Adults, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a joyful(?) reunion...

There was more blood than they liked. Too much red staining their friend’s chest and gi. They had seen things like this many times, like when a puma pounced upon a helpless deer and had his meal at his leisure. But this was different. The man who’d done this to their friend wasn’t following the law of nature by killing for sustenance; he wasn’t even killing in defense. It was just killing. And the way he had laughed…

Bastion wished that they had two hands to bandage Hanzo’s wound with. Then they could’ve tended the archer while he rested in Jesse’s arms. As it was, they were forced to lean him against the wall of a secluded wine cellar as the cowboy wrapped a roll of white cloth over the gashes across Hanzo’s chest.

Bastion thought that Jesse’s arms would’ve been more comfortable. He certainly seemed happy when he’d fallen asleep on the cowboy’s shoulder after a long hunt, no matter how much he growled about not meaning to do so afterwards.

“Ow! Not so tight, idiot!” Hanzo snapped as Jesse pulled on the bandage to tie it off.

Jesse scrunched his face a bit but didn’t look away from his work. “Sorry… but can ya keep it down? I don’t want them finding us again.”

Hanzo huffed but didn’t say anything else. They all knew that their pursuers would find them eventually. It was a surprise that this was the only time they’d been able to settle down long enough to tend to the archer’s wounds; every other time, they’d been found before they could even get the cloth out.

And this had gone on for hours. Darkness had fallen, and the small group had given up any hope of escaping before dawn. Jesse was fairly good at moving through treacherous terrain at night, but the others were far less skilled in such a task.

Bastion turned to peek out the door. The warforged druid didn’t see any mages roaming the paths, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. _They must be looking harder,_ they thought, closing the door slowly to keep it from making a sound. _Wonder when they will find us. Maybe hours? Maybe my friends can sleep. That would be good._

The cowboy finished bandaging Hanzo silently and flopped down beside him. A few burns from mage fire graced his sleeves, but he was barely injured. Nothing a few days rest wouldn’t fix, anyway. The archer’s wounds were more severe but weren’t life threatening. For that, Bastion would breathe a sigh of relief if they could.

From far off, the sound of spells hitting brick and wood echoed. The mages were probably firing at every single bump and stray wind that knocked a door open. If it kept them busy, then Bastion was grateful for it.

Seconds stretched into minutes that stretched into an hour of uncomfortable silence as the trio huddled down in the cellar, hardly moving for fear that the shifting of their bodies would draw attention to their hiding spot. The warforged peeked out only occasionally, but each time, they were worried about making a noise they couldn’t take back.

And then the shouts of “Intruder!” started again.

Bastion was the first to bolt up, ready to pick up Hanzo and run. The men were on their feet in moments, too, the archer still holding his side as he winced. Jesse swore under his breath, but it wasn’t any mystery what he said.

“Damn! Thought this was a good hidin’ place,” the cowboy hissed, drawing his blade in preparation of the door being thrown open. The warforged pulled Hanzo into their arm, unworried about tiring themselves out by carrying him. They were ready to push past a wall of armed mages and knights the moment they dared show their faces.

But nothing happened.

The door remained closed. They remained hidden.

“Doop… doo-wee?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jesse hazarded a look back to his friends. “I… don’t think there were any patrols scheduled.”

Hanzo shook his head and pushed Bastion’s hand aside to limp up beside the cowboy. “There were no other rangers in the area. Someone must’ve just gotten very, very unlucky.”

There was no hesitation or uncertainty in his voice, and the warforged hung their head. They didn’t want anyone else to be hurt just because they happened to stumble upon the garrison while they and their friends were hiding within. It couldn’t have been their animal companions, either. Neither Ganymede nor Kai would risk flying in the dark, and Tara was hardly an intruder. _Run,_ Bastion hoped, knowing their thoughts wouldn’t reach anyone but thinking them all the same. _Run away. You’re not safe here. Go. Please._

Bastion gently pushed Jesse to the side as they went up to the door and slowly pushed it open. Nothing to their right. Nothing to their left. Nothing directly ahead. They turned back to their companions and started motioning for them to come up – to possibly take advantage of the mages’ distraction – when a quiet pattering of feet drew their attention back outside. Their blade was at the ready before they realized what they were doing. Bastion just barely stopped themselves from thrusting out at the noise before it stopped just short of the door.

“Jesse?”

The voice was soft and flowing, the accent reminding them of Hanzo’s but less harsh. Bastion didn’t know what to do… what to think. This person knew their friend, but how? None of the mages knew; they’d never called each other’s names while in earshot of them. Bastion tilted their head at the cowboy, looking for the answer they couldn’t produce.

There was confusion of his face for the briefest of seconds before his eyes widened and a smile split his face. He dashed under the warforged’s arm-blade and made to throw the cellar door back.

“What are you doing?! Idiot, get back here,” Hanzo hissed, the barest trace of concern softening his whispered order.

Jesse only shrugged as he glanced back at the archer. “Dunno why he’s here, but he’s a friendly.” With that as his only reason, he pushed the door open and scrambled up the stairs onto the pathway outside.

“Bee-doop!” Bastion cried, scooping Hanzo up unceremoniously to follow the cowboy as fast as they could. Outside, Jesse had already found the source of the new voice and embraced the man who was said source.

It was another man, a fair bit shorter than the cowboy. He had been lifted clear off the ground, and yet his chin was just able to rest on his shoulder. He wore black clothes and armor, trimmed with green accents that matched the color of scales that covered his long, thick tail. Two short antlers grew out of his jet black hair, and trails of emerald scales ran along his cheeks and over his arms, which ended in sharp claws that gripped Jesse’s serape with the same enthusiasm the cowboy had picked him up with.

“Gods above! I ain’t seen you in ages!” he growled happily before setting the draconic man back on the ground. The cowboy didn’t completely let go, still resting his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, let me tell you that.”

Hanzo folded his arms over his chest as menacingly as he could. “And you are an idiot for running off and letting every soul within a hundred yards know exactly where you are.” The archer tilted his head back so he was looking down his nose at the other men, but Bastion could feel some of the tension leave his injured muscles. They didn’t blame him; they were relieved to see someone else who didn’t want to murder them.

Jesse gave his friends a sheepish smile that they could see even in the darkness that surrounded them. “Heh heh… sorry ‘bout that. I just ain’t seen… Well, guess I better introduce ya.” He stepped aside to motion at the newcomer. “Guys… this is Genji, one o’ my old buddies from Overwatch. Genji… the ‘forged is Bastion, and the other’s Hanzo.”

Whatever tension Hanzo had shed in the previous moments returned ten times as strong. Bastion was simply amazed that he didn’t turn to stone at the mere mention of a name. They wondered why but couldn’t say anything as Jesse and Genji continued talking.

* * * * * * * * * *

Time stood still for a moment as Jesse turned to the side and Genji got a good look at his companions. He’d seen older warforged before, ones who were designed purely for combat with no consideration for how they’d interact with the world after the fighting was done. They didn’t even have two hands.

But it was the man being held in the hand they did have that truly made the draconic man stop. His hair was beginning to gray, and the beard was new as far as he was concerned. Yet that was a face he would recognize anywhere. A face he looked to for help when he just couldn’t get the hang of climbing their father’s cherry tree. A face he dreaded seeing when he first woke up after a night of reckless abandon in the town. A face Genji had seen glaring down at him as the man raised that cursed blade above his head.

Hanzo. His beloved brother. His eternal nag. His murderer.

Jesse’s cheerful introduction registered in the draconic man’s mind, but he was fighting just to keep a calm façade. There were so many things he wanted to say – needed to say – but now wasn’t the time or place. Instead he grit his teeth and tried to keep his smile from slipping. “It is an honor to meet you,” Genji said tersely. He kept from spitting the words by reminding himself that they were for Bastion too, and the warforged didn’t deserve any resentment.

Hanzo barely moved. His jaw worked slightly as he looked to be sizing Genji up, but he couldn’t tell if his brother was determining whether he would be seeking revenge or if he simply didn’t recognize him. The draconic rogue had changed drastically since their last meeting; he wouldn’t put it past the archer to believe him a completely separate person. When Hanzo spoke, it was with the same terseness as Genji. “Likewise. Now, can you explain what’s happening here?”

_Yes, that is the more pressing issue here, isn’t it?_ Genji clenched his fist as he pushed his personal feelings as far down as they would go and turned to Jesse, who was beginning to look hesitantly between the two brothers. “Catching up will have to wait, my friend. My companions are distracting the Vishkar soldiers at the gate, but they will not be able to hold it long.”

“So… how were ya planning on getting us back out? There’s only one gate that’s not blasted all to bits.” Jesse’s calm comment was a welcome sound compared to the aggressive silence that hung between Genji and Hanzo. The draconic rogue wished that he was the only one he had to spirit out of the garrison, both for simplicity’s sake and to quiet his heart.

Genji sighed, “We only knew that you were here for certain, so I had hoped we could leave the same way I entered… over the wall.”

“Chirr woo…” Bastion whirred. It was such a stark contrast to the almost musical quality in Zenyatta’s voice that there was a moment in which Genji didn’t realize their voice had an almost resigned quality to it.

Hanzo’s eyes flicked briefly to the warforged’s face before settling back on his brother. “That is most certainly _not_ happening.” He didn’t elaborate, but the draconic rogue could see the bandages tied around his torso.

_Were you always this aggressive when you were injured, brother?_ he mused, frowning as he met the archer’s eyes again. _Or is it just my presence that bothers you so?_ “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. Genji’s heart was beating far too fast, and he couldn’t tell if it was in anger at seeing his dear brother in a situation like this or dread at what they had to do next. “We have to leave by the gate.”

“Well… darn…” Jesse groaned. Somehow, he was able to make the sound merely annoyed rather than distressed, and that odd calm was exactly what the draconic man needed. If the cowboy hadn’t been there… Genji wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. Nothing constructive, that was for sure. “Ya got a way to tell your pals we need more than a distraction about now?”

Genji inclined his head slightly. In the shock of their meeting, he had forgotten about the spell Angela had cast earlier. Closing his eyes and focusing on the image of her in his mind – on her dove white wings and pale yellow hair – he felt the gentle pressure and tingle of magic near the back of his head. _Good, it didn’t dissipate._ Clearing his throat, the draconic man nodded. “I do. Angela… Jesse isn’t the only one here. We can’t climb the walls, so we’ll be going to you through the garrison. If you can, please clear us a path.” The spell allowed the cleric to listen to Genji from a long distance away, but the reverse wasn’t true. He could only hope that she got the message and that his companions were able to push their enemies aside enough to let them through. Looking back to Jesse’s small group, the draconic rogue nodded. “That should be enough. Angela will let the others know. Now, let’s-”

“We flank at their weakest point and break through,” Hanzo cut him off, pushing himself out of Bastion’s arm to stand at his full height. Genji threw him a glare and fought the urge to cross his arms as well. One of them had to be an adult, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Hanzo, no matter how good he thought his strategies were. The draconic rogue actually wished he could think of a better plan just so he could berate his brother for interrupting him.

“… Yes,” was all he could muster, though. Genji looked sidelong at Jesse, a silent hope that the cowboy could do something he could not.

Jesse shrugged and gave a lopsided grin, going back to Hanzo and patting him on his bare shoulder. “Hey, ease up there, partner. Genji and I go way back; you can trust him.”

The daggers Hanzo looked at the cowboy with could cut steel, but he was blessedly silent. Genji snickered wryly under his breath. If only Jesse knew just how much more history the brothers shared, then he would’ve known that trust was the last thing between them. But it was the one thing they needed to give as they fell into step to follow Jesse, the only neutral party at the moment who could actually talk in more than sad beeps and a low whistle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. I spent so long thinking how I wanted this scene to go, and I hope I was able to capture the tension and uncertainty I was going for.
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 5173


	11. Charge!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tides turn as unexpected allies join the party.

_“Angela… Jesse isn’t the only one here. We can’t climb the walls, so we’ll be going to you through the garrison. If you can, please clear us a path.”_

The winged cleric spared a moment to close her eyes and pray to Pelor as Genji’s words echoed in her mind, clear as if he was standing right beside her. She wished it were that easy, but even mustering a sustained distraction proved to be a challenge. Fareeha was bold and decisive with her charges, yet magic barriers blocked her path at times when she was about to deliver the final blow. The injured mages could retreat and lick their wounds while the eldritch knights held the cavalier back with a wall of blades. Zenyatta fared little better. He danced in and around their enemies, metal limbs landing crippling punches and kicks while they tried desperately to catch him with spells of fire and ice. But he was little more than a nuisance to so many soldiers. Angela herself hung back, bobbing up and down in the air to avoid the worst attacks and diving down when she saw a chance to bludgeon an unsuspecting mage with her mace.

It was a battle of endurance, and while the warforged monk needn’t worry about fatigue, the women had bodies of flesh and blood that would tire long before they felled every last mage and knight. If they pushed – like they would need to do to carve the path Genji needed – then they would almost certainly lose and forfeit the ability to retreat.

“Fareeha!” she shouted as the cavalier pulled back behind the rubble of what had once been a watchtower. Angela rushed to her side, healing spell on her lips to ease a burn gotten from a well-aimed fireball. The words flowed from her as easily as a sigh, turning red and black flesh back to its normal, healthy brown. Seeing her faith heal her friend didn’t make her worry any less. “Genji found Jesse, but he’s not alone.”

“What?!” the cavalier gasped, panic clear in her eyes even partially hidden by her falcon-beak helm. “Tell me where! I will-!”

Angela raised her hand to ask for Fareeha to let her finish. “Genji wasn’t worried, so I believe they’re among allies, but he won’t be able to climb the walls like he did to get in. They… need to exit through the gate.”

Fareeha turned to look back at the garrison’s southern gate. It had been wedged open by a gryphon’s corpse when they found it, but the cavalier knew the secret words that opened it wide for them to rush in. Just like she thought, the mages had swarmed around the gate to block their advance, forming a fluid wall of bodies and magic between them and the rest of the garrison. The cavalier closed her eyes in thought, and Angela knew that they were thinking the same thing. “I will fight against the harshest of odds to protect my friends…” Fareeha sighed, “but I do not think we can break through their line before our friends arrive.”

“I think you’re right.” The winged cleric looked back to the enemy forces, who were also regrouping. Zenyatta was still flitting among them, his hands and feet a blur as he unleashed flurry after flurry of blows. “But I won’t abandon him either. Ready?”

Fareeha smiled, and Angela could almost feel the purr of excitement from Nassor. Readying a spell to give them both greater strength, she nodded. “Ready.”

A piercing whistle echoed through the garrison, soon followed by a burst of light high above their heads. The women had to shield their eyes from it, as it shone like a sun in the middle of the night. They could only imagine the Vishkar mages were similarly reeling.

“Angela!” Zenyatta exclaimed, stumbling back to hide clumsily behind a nearby wall. “I do not deny the usefulness of such magic, but a little warning would do us all well.”

“It wasn’t me,” the winged cleric objected, frantically blinking away the dark blotches that plagued her vision. “Genji… he’s saying he’s surprised, as well. It could be the Vishkari’s doing…” But she highly doubted her own words. The curses streaming from the closest mages gave her the feeling that it wasn’t their spell either. _But… if it wasn’t us… and it wasn’t them… who could’ve done that? A Daylight spell is no small feat._

“Fear not, my friends!” A booming voice rang out from the direction of the gate. “I will be your shield!”

Angela wasn’t one to believe in miracles. Ironic for a cleric, but she had always put more stock in what she could explain. She even rationalized her own powers, which came from her faith and devotion to the sun god, Pelor. Everything had a reason for happening, if one looked hard enough. But she couldn’t think of any other reason for this besides a miracle. One of happenstance and coincidence, but a miracle nonetheless.

Because there was no way she could ever forget that voice, nor the warmth it brought to her soul.

“Reinhardt!” she nearly sobbed, turning towards his voice, though her eyesight still hadn’t completely cleared. Tears were beginning to sting her eyes, but they were more tears of joy than of pain and hopelessness. “Reinhardt, I… I can’t believe it!”

“Believe it! We are no illusion!” This time, it wasn’t Reinhardt who spoke. As Angela’s vision came back into focus, she saw that her old comrade wasn’t the only one who had joined the fray.

Reinhardt was an imposing figure, his plate armor a small fortress surrounding his already towering frame. He marched forward with a purpose in his stride, hefting his greathammer in his hands. He was no paladin, despite how he always used to go on about honor during their Overwatch days, yet his presence made her feel comfortable and safe. Beside him, a similarly large woman with a shock of short, vividly pink hair fell in step with him. But most of her bulk wasn’t due to her armor; she was decked in blue-tinted scale mail that hugged her torso as much as armor could. No, she was easily half again as tall as most human warriors, and with bulging muscles. In one hand, she easily swung a greataxe that rivaled Reinhardt’s weapon in size. _Is she… a giant?_ the winged cleric asked herself. There weren’t many giants that looked quite like she did, though.

Their entrance hadn’t gone unnoticed by the mages. Within moments of Angela’s eyesight clearing, she heard a few of the nearest soldiers shouting arcane words, followed by rays of magical fire shooting towards the two. But the instant the spells hit Reinhardt’s armor, they fizzled out, disappearing with an anticlimactic “pwooft.”

The knight paused to brush the armor off where the magic had faded, chuckling loudly. “Was that all? Chimney fires have more bite than you!” His bluster was not in vain; those who were closest in front of the newcomers were visibly shaken, most bringing their staves and other mundane weapons up to defend themselves with. Pitiful defenses against those such as their new foes. Reinhardt let out one last laugh before charging in.

The earth shook beneath each of his footsteps, and both Angela and Fareeha turned to see one of the armored mages scream as the knight rammed him into the side of a building. Eldritch knights swarmed Reinhardt as soon as he’d stopped, but one swing of his greathammer was all it took to push them back, catching some in the arm or side while others were able to sidestep the giant weapon. Those who evaded the knight’s attack were greeted with an equally unpleasant prospect, as the giantess wasn’t far behind him, swinging her greataxe in short, precise arcs.

Angela felt tears sting her eyes. Just moments ago, she had been prepared to throw her life away in a vain attempt to rescue an old friend. Now… now, they actually stood a chance. She could see them all, bursting through the Vishkari defenses to meet Genji, Jesse, and whomever else they’d found. She could almost feel the draconic rogue’s scaly arms wrapped around her shoulders, praising the gods that this night was not their last.

“The tide has turned, Angela. We need to go back into the fray!” Fareeha had to shake her shoulder to snap her out of the premature joy she’d been feeling. The cavalier kept Nassor from leaping to action with a steady hand on his reins, but she was just as eager to lend a hand to their saviors.

“Y-yes!” the winged cleric agreed, retrieving the words for her Enlarge spell from the recesses of her mind.

“Not so fast, lassies! I can’t let you off before I give you some armor.”

Angela suppressed a laugh, knowing immediately who else had joined them. He’d probably arrived just behind Reinhardt and the giantess, his short legs unable to carry him fast enough to keep up with such towering people. Torbjörn clomped up to the women with a third girl on his heels. The dwarf was adorned in simple leathers, but it was the toolbelt and pack that were truly his advantage in a battle. Grabbing a small rod out of a bandolier, he whispered in hurried Dwarven, weaving a spell into the wood, which he activated as soon as he was within a few steps of the cleric and cavalier. Warmth flooded into her chainmail, and she knew Fareeha felt the same happen to her plate armor. It wasn’t the strongest of enchantments, but it was one she recognized well, as Torbjörn had cast it on her numerous times before heading into danger. If Reinhardt’s presence had relaxed her, then the dwarven artificer’s extra protection made her feel truly safe and secure.

Angela finished casting her spell, too, growing Fareeha and her gryphon to the size of a giant and mammoth respectively. With a single nod back to the cleric, she urged Nassor into the air, leaping upon a solitary mage who had somehow evaded both the hammer and the axe. Her work momentarily done, Angela whirled back to the dwarf and his similarly-dressed friend.

“I… I can’t believe it! Torbjörn… Reinhardt… wh-why are you here?”

Before he could answer, Zenyatta seemingly appeared out of nowhere beside her. He had probably just approached during the insanity of the last few minutes, but it still startled her a bit. “Miss Angela, might I ask who our new allies are?”

The winged cleric looked to Torbjörn and the other lady to see if they would answer in her stead. Her tears were falling freely now, clearly visible in the light of the shining orb still above their heads. She didn’t notice the grimace that crossed the dwarf’s face the moment Zenyatta appeared. “The old man got a message from a town elder – Mira, I think – saying you might need help, and how could we turn down a chance to help such wonderful lassies like yourself?”

“Thank you,” was all Angela could get out before realized that the diminutive man hadn’t answered Zenyatta’s question. Turning back to the warforged, who was waiting patiently beside her, she sighed, “Th-this is Torbjörn Lindholm. A-and the man fighting out there is Reinhardt Wilhelm. I don’t know the others. I’m sorry!” She aimed her apology more towards the brown-haired woman who had yet to speak. The sounds of fighting were so distant to her in that moment.

“There’s time for introductions later,” the brown-haired woman replied, her voice loud enough to be clear without shouting it like Reinhardt did. “I’ll patch up your warforged friend, so you can keep everyone else from bleeding out, Sister.”

“Sister?” It took a moment for Angela to realize that her holy symbol was hanging in plain view around her neck. She had gotten so used to being called by her name that she had forgotten her official title within the clergy. “Oh! Yes. I still have some healing spells left.”

The other woman nodded and grabbed some tools from her own belt, sidestepping Torbjörn to take a closer look at Zenyatta. “You just focus on healing then. We’ve got the spellcasting covered, but I can’t knit flesh and bone as well as I can steel and stone.”

Zenyatta didn’t object to the other woman taking his arms to look for damage or as she ran her hands over the dents in his side to see how bad it was. He instead nodded to Angela. “I believe this is your cue to join the front lines. I will be with you momentarily, assuming your friend is a quick fixer.”

“Don’t rush me,” the woman pouted for a second before smirking at the warforged. “But challenge accepted. You won’t be out of the fight for long.” Turning back to Angela, she shooed the cleric towards the battle. “What are you waiting for? Go! I’m counting on you to keep Sir Wilhelm intact.”

“Right! Right…” Angela took a deep breath before stretching her wings and taking to the air, confident that she wouldn’t be struck down by a rogue spell as Fareeha kept retreating into the air before each strafing run. There was hope in her chest that hadn’t been there since the previous day, when she saw the garrison being attacked the first time. Now, there was a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. I'm still not that great with fight scenes, so please let me know if there's anything I can improve on.
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 7546


	12. Not Quite a Ragequit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the tide turns, our heroes finally see their enemy bring out the heavy hitters.

There was a lot more blood than she was really used to. At least, coming from her enemies. In the far north, where Zarya was born and raised, the largest hordes of humanoids, who would come trying to steal their crops, would be deterred by the village’s archers and a few well-placed spells from the local mystic. Recent years, however, had brought another threat: warforged. And they didn’t bleed when they were struck down.

Zarya ignored that as best she could. While she had been trained to fight the warforged laying siege to her homeland, that wasn’t all she was taught to fight. Torbjörn’s enchantment negated the first few spells leveled at her, and that was enough for them to resort to their much less effective weapons. The ones that required them to get in close to work. Close enough to be within striking range of her axe. She didn’t have anything against mages in particular, but there was a moment, right after they saw their spells had no effect, when the half-giant fighter felt an upwell of smug satisfaction.

_Your magic is not so invincible now, is it?_ she thought as she laid waste to her enemies with only a few strikes. “Come on! Hit me!” Zarya shouted at one of the few armored foes who had only just rounded a sharp corner. “I will see all you Vishkari pawns fallen by the end of this night!”

The armored elf scowled and drew his hand along the blade of his scimitar, causing it to ignite as several runes glowed in the metal. Zarya readied herself for him to rush her, noting that a few less combat-ready mages hurried past him into the narrow paths between the barracks. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t find much refuge, as she would track them down once they were done with the main body of the Vishkar forces. Right now, the elven knight before her was her main concern. He rushed her, weaving left and right in a simple feint. He was obviously more of a mage than a fighter from how unsure his steps were, and the half-giant raised her axe to swing at him.

A metallic blur of steel and tarnished gold cloth met the armored mage first. So caught up in her own actions, Zarya hadn’t noticed where the other fighters were and was taken aback as a slender warforged delivered a quick punch and elbow to the elf’s head, knocking him to the ground. The flames licking his scimitar were instantly snuffed, a sure sign that the spellcaster maintaining the magic was unconscious.

The joy Zarya felt from putting these mages in their place was replaced with a slimy, disgusted twisting in her stomach. Her grip on her axe tightened, wringing the treated wood like she wanted to do to the little construct’s neck. “That was my kill, tin can!” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Get your own challenge before I forget where I’m swinging my axe.”

The warforged stiffened and turned his head towards her. “My apologies,” his voice was far calmer than she expected and a lot more human than she felt comfortable with. “He appeared to be turning incorporeal, and I saw the chance to knock him out before that happened.”

Zarya snorted. She’d been so focused on how clumsy his martial maneuver was that she ignored the way his form was shifting ever so slightly before the warforged stepped in. It made her sick thinking that he was right, so she looked back to the rest of the battlefield. The mages who remained uninjured were few and far between and kept retreating from the gryphon rider’s darting blows in between sidestepping Reinhardt’s hammer. A good majority of the soldiers had fallen back completely, disappearing between the buildings.

But something felt off.

The half-giant’s grimace softened as she concentrated on the feeling. She didn’t have the same innate affinity for the earth like the mountain giants back home, but she could still feel when the ground was sensing something out of the norm. She wanted to say that it was just because of their arrival, yet that wasn’t it. No, there was something else there. Something… aggressive.

And large.

“Is something wrong?” the warforged asked. Zarya shuddered at his words. It almost sounded like he was concerned. Warforged didn’t feel concern, though. They were weapons given the semblance of life. This one was just more life-like than the others, and that made it even worse.

She didn’t bother answering him, instead turning towards the gate. There were some halls within the walls, which Torbjörn said were empty before they made their entrance. The half-giant wondered how far they went and where they were connected, though, as she caught sight of a large man jogging out of the doorway that looked far too small for him. Blue skin and a giant club were the first things that registered in her mind before he threw a spiked chain at the cavalier circling above them.

“Behind you!” Zarya cried, suddenly helpless to do anything as the chain wrapped around the gryphon’s leg and they were yanked to the ground. She ran towards the man – whom she saw now was an ogre mage – with her axe at the ready. The warforged dashed past her, and the half-giant had a moment of prideful anger at the thought that he would take down this new foe by himself again.

The ogre mage laughed at the two now charging him, swinging his greatclub in an arc that might’ve caught the slender warforged if he hadn’t rolled at just the right time. He ducked under the weapon as it passed harmlessly over him, standing back up behind him before delivering a single punch to his back.

“Graaaah!” The cry of agony the ogre let out carried throughout the entire garrison, even drawing Reinhardt’s attention from where he kept the other mages at bay while a winged woman kept harassing those he missed. Zarya didn’t know how a single blow could be so painful, but she wasn’t questioning it as she got within striking range and put all her strength behind a two-handed swing.

She didn’t know exactly why the ogre mage didn’t move. It wasn’t like she was trying for a feint or a clever blow. Her axe was going exactly where it looked like it was going, and yet he just stood there as the blade sliced across his chest and rotund belly. He cried out again, his agony clear in the how inhuman and guttural his voice sounded as it cracked. The ogre mage tried to back away, but the warforged struck again, and he stiffened at the impact.

_Is that… tin can doing this?_ Zarya didn’t want to think that a construct could actually be useful, but there was little other explanation as Torbjörn and Brigitte both looked to be weaving spells and couldn’t have done anything in time to make this opponent pause like that. She grit her once more, channeling her annoyance and anger into another swing that nearly split the ogre’s belly clean in half. His first wound was already starting to slowly stitch itself back together, but it wasn’t fast enough. He started snarling vicious things in a language she couldn’t understand as he dropped his weapons to clutch the gaping wounds he now sported.

“That’s what you get for challenging me, pig-face!” Zarya grinned. She began raising her axe for what she hoped would be the final blow when the warforged spun around to her side and yanked her backwards with more strength than she expected from such a small body. Before she could demand to know why, the reason became clear, as a flask hit the spot she had just been standing on and a pillar of fire erupted from the ground.

“Surprise!” a cheerful voice sung from the gate. Zarya blinked, not quite sure what she was looking at. It was a man, that much was sure, but she couldn’t tell what race he was. Not that it mattered, as he held several flasks of various color in his hands like a child would their candy.

Slightly behind him was a dark-skinned woman in sky blue robes and another eldritch knight if his twilight-colored armor was any indication. Even from this distance, the half-giant could see the scowl on the woman’s face, as if this battle was a mere annoyance that had grown beyond handling. She waved her hand with clear distain, and a wall of blue-tinted force sprung up between Zarya and the ogre mage, effectively separating the half-giant and her allies from the Vishkari. It wasn’t completely opaque, though, and she could see the newcomers stride towards the injured man.

“Fall back!” the woman spoke, her voice far louder than it should have been. Zarya thought she must’ve augmented it with magic somehow. “This battle is lost. Rendezvous at the return point as soon as possible.”

The alchemist beside her visibly sighed. “Aw~ Sorry to leave ya so soon, mates. Guess we’ll have to play later~” He threw one last vial over the wall of force as the blue-robed woman drew an incantation in the air.

The next few moments were a blur, as the vial hit the ground in an explosion of fire and concussive sound while the mage woman and her companions shimmered and disappeared without a trace. Zarya landed with a grunt, grateful that the warforged wasn’t blown back quite as far and hit the ground several feet short of her instead of on top of her. Groaning, she shook the ringing from her ears and sat up, looking around to take stock. All of her small party had been knocked down by the blast, including the women they had just joined up with and another group of men who must have only just arrived, as she hadn’t seen them before. All of the Vishkari had disappeared as well, minus the ones who were already dead.

“Ack,” Reinhardt grunted as he was the first to get back on his feet. “Oof, I’ll feel that one in the morning…”

Zarya let out a soft chuckle. Despite how good he was in battle, the knight was hardly a spring flower. She looked over the rest of the people still there. No one was dead so far as she could tell, and that was always a good way to end a fight. What wasn’t such a good way to end a fight was realizing that another of the people who had joined the fight late was another warforged. And this one was probably another that she wouldn’t be allowed to squish beneath her axe.

“This… is going to be a long night…” the half-giant groaned, picking herself off the ground as the others reoriented themselves to the sudden quiet and safety they found themselves in.

* * * * * * * * * *

Satya tapped the table impatiently. As soon as she had teleported as many of her soldiers as she could, the mage-crafter had sent a bird token to the crown prince with a status update. They had lost over half her force, and the other half had sustained serious injuries. It had been a disaster, one that she wasn’t proud to admit she should’ve prepared for. There was always a chance that reinforcements would arrive, but she ignored that in favor of chasing down the first set of intruders instead.

And look where that left them.

“Aw, don’t look so glum, magey.”

Satya glanced up at the mongrelfolk alchemist who had joined her, leaning his false arm on the table. He didn’t look any worse for wear, but it was hard to judge under the layer of soot and dirt that coated his visible skin. She scoffed under her breath. “I will look however I choose to look.”

Jamison raised an eyebrow and pouted. It was quite an odd look on someone with so many conflicting features. “What? Ya did what you were told ta do, didn’t ya? Got rid o’ them flappy-riders, right?”

The mage-crafter scrunched her eyes shut and pinched her nose. _Must you annoy me so? You are correct, yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you are right,_ she thought, taking a deep breath before looking back up at him. “You are not wrong. We achieved our primary objective, but we were forced to retreat to avoid unnecessary casualties. If you don’t recall, your friend could’ve very well been one of those casualties.”

The mongrelfolk’s quizzical look changed like someone had flipped a switch. He scowled but looked to the side. It gave her the impression that he wasn’t aiming his displeasure at her. “Guess yer right there,” he sighed, hunching over and twiddling his thumbs. “Mako’s doin’ a lot better now, though. Think we can give it another go?”

It took a moment for Satya to realize he was talking about assaulting the garrison. She shook her head. “No. We’ll wait for orders from Prince Pyjahr before we do anything. It’s possible we may get reinforcements from the squad he was sending to the garrison.”

“So… we might be gettin’ back to work soon?” Jamison’s entire face lit up at the idea. Satya had to wonder just what it was about blowing things up that made him so happy; it didn’t seem healthy to be so obsessed with destruction, although it was certainly useful.

“… It’s possible, yes,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “We should be getting instructions within… one moment…”

Satya stood up, letting her eyes drift shut so she could focus on the tingling in her mind that meant her familiar was trying to get her attention. Back in the Vishkar capital, Pyjahr was speaking to Aadarsh, and she could hear the words almost as clearly as if she were there.

_“Tell Satya that she is to take her remaining forces and go to Lumerico. I will meet her there to discuss our next move.” A pause. “Also, remind her that she did well. My father will be displeased that she retreated, but I’d rather have her alive than dead in some foolhardy ploy to keep a secondary objective. I’m glad that she is well. That is all.”_

The rest was just a feeling of contentedness as the prince stroked Aadarsh’s fur. Satya smiled. While it wasn’t any comfort to know that the king would not be happy, she always put more stock in Pyjahr’s opinion. He had his father’s ear, after all, and was a far better diplomat than either of his siblings. That he would one day inherit the throne made her that much more confident that Vishkar would eventually make the world a better place for everyone under their rule.

But right now, there was an alchemist bouncing up and down with excitement. The mage-crafter almost felt sorry that he wouldn’t get to make things explode quite so soon. “Jamison,” she cleared her throat and waited for him to stand still for a moment, “we are heading to Lumerico. As soon as everyone is healed, we head out.”

Jamison let out a big sigh and hunched over even more. He looked so much like a kicked puppy; Satya had no idea how he could be the same person as the one who set up explosives with such glee. Sighing herself, she motioned to the rest of the stronghold they had teleported to. “There should be a laboratory downstairs if you need to amuse yourself in the meantime. Just don’t blow up any of the equipment.”

“You got it, magey!” he chirped as he dashed out of the room, leaving Satya to think about the strange people that disrupted their plans and how they might complicate their future endeavors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. Seriously, I'd love to know what I'm doing right and what y'all think I can improve on. :)
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 11,069


	13. Sticks and Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the fighting ends, the blood truly begins to boil between estranged brothers.

Genji quickly scrambled to his feet, ready to face whatever had just thrown that explosive grenade. His vigilance was somewhat wasted as he saw that none of the Vishkari remained. The ones who were still alive, at least. The rest of his small band was picking themselves off the ground, as well as a few more familiar faces. Reinhardt and Torbjörn were more than welcome additions, as were the half-giant woman and the human artificer whom he didn’t recognize. Scattered across the field as they were, the draconic rogue saw the more mobile of their group helping the others up, which Genji was quick to do once he saw Bastion was having trouble getting up with only one articulated hand.

As if drawn by an invisible force, they started grouping up in front of the gate, which Fareeha closed just to be on the safe side. Old friends started clapping each other on the shoulder, and Reinhardt lifted his much smaller Overwatch fellows in giant hugs while Angela tended to everyone’s wounds. Very little was said beyond the typical “it’s so nice to see you” until the human artificer cleared her throat and piped up. “So, now that we’re not in immediate danger, how about we get to those introductions? We rushed over here so fast the big guy didn’t even tell us who we were helping.”

Reinhardt slapped his forehead at this realization, laughing as he apologized for being in such a hurry. “Ah, sorry, sorry,” he chuckled, pausing to take his helmet off so he could look everyone eye to eye. “I should have said something earlier. Thank you for following this old man’s foolish charge.”

“Well, someone’s got to keep you from getting yourself killed,” Torbjörn huffed, but the good cheer was evident in his tone. The dwarf and the knight had been good friends ever since before Overwatch was founded all those years ago, and Genji found their playful banter reassuring despite how overwhelmed they were mere hours before.

The knight motioned for the rest of the gathered adventurers to listen to him. The only ones who didn’t step closer were Hanzo and Bastion. The draconic rogue still didn’t know how he felt about his estranged brother being there, so that was probably for the best. The warforged druid just looked unsure, especially since the half-giant woman alternated glaring at both them and Zenyatta. Reinhardt’s voice easily carried, though, so that too was no problem.

“Alright, I’d love formal introductions, but, uh, since there are so many of us, I’m sure Brigitte would like a quicker version than usual.” The human artificer nodded, and Reinhardt continued. “Most of you know Torbjörn and myself, Reinhardt, but Brigitte and Zarya recently joined us.” As he mentioned each name, he motioned to the person it belonged to. “Now, if it’s not so bold, we also have here Angela, Fareeha, Genji, and Jesse. I don’t recognize the others, though, so I shall leave their introductions to themselves.”

When no one immediately piped up, Zenyatta spoke, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I am Tekhartha Zenyatta, though Zenyatta will suffice… or tin can, if you prefer.” The woman known as Zarya scoffed at the remark. He had clearly aimed it at her, though Genji knew that his words held no malice. In fact, he had never heard his master level more than a sassy comment at someone he wasn’t fond of. And that wasn’t anywhere near as sassy as he could get.

“Well,” Jesse said when no one thought to make a big deal out of Zenyatta deliberating asking to be called by a slur, “the squishy fella here is Bastion, and this guy’s-”

“Hanzo.” The archer cut his friend off, harshly and without remorse. “And you are all strangers to me… I’d rather keep it that way.”

It was more than Genji expected to hear from his brother, and a sick thought wormed its way into his mind: he could make Hanzo eat those words. It was only fair for him to be able to needle him after what he’d done all those years ago.

“What,” the draconic rogue smirked, facing his brother as he put his hands on his hips, “don’t you recognize me?”

While the others in the motley group they’d assembled had turned to each other to carry on smaller discussions about their next step or what to do if the mages hadn’t truly left, those words made everyone stop and focus on the brothers. Jesse, Angela, and Fareeha looked most confused by Genji’s words, the cowboy’s eyes flitting between them quickly.

“Wait a gosh darn minute, you two know each other?” Jesse exclaimed softly. “Then why were ya being such a doubtin’ thomas earlier? Yer both good folk…”

Genji wished he could save the expression he saw on Hanzo’s face, his eyes burning with indignant rage, and his entire body tenser than a coiled spring. It was so different – so much more passionate – than the coldness in his eyes that night so long ago, when Hanzo strode towards his little brother with that ancient, cursed blade. The draconic rogue loved it, and he hated it. But in that moment, he mostly just loved it, pushing the part of him that felt pity for the man – that objected to what he was about to do – further into the back of his mind. He held all the cards here, and he wasn’t going to waste them.

“Yes,” Genji said mockingly, daring Hanzo to stop him. “Why _did_ you look so bothered… _brother_.”

The look Hanzo gave his little brother could make a medusa blush with envy. Silence lay heavy upon the garrison as he found his voice again and hissed, “You… are _not_ my brother. My brother is dead. You are nothing but an insolent _half-breed_. You are not worthy of his name!”

Reinhardt and Jesse were both making as if they were ready to intercept Hanzo should he choose to lunge at Genji. Given how much he was shaking, the draconic rogue wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d done just that. His friends weren’t putting themselves directly between the brothers, but it was obvious what their intention was. Had he been alone in confronting the archer, Genji probably would’ve left it there, walked away, and been the bigger man for once in his life.

But the knife was there. And he couldn’t resist twisting it just a little more.

Genji crossed his arms over his chest, puffing it out a bit as he scoffed, “I may be a half-breed, but at least I don’t have to put ‘kinslayer’ in front of the word.” He grinned as the color left Hanzo’s face, and he chuckled. “But I guess you can’t claim that title either, now can you?”

He regretted the words almost the moment they left his mouth. Jesse and Angela audibly gasped, and Genji realized that he’d never told them exactly who had attempted to kill him. All he’d said was that someone within his family had betrayed him. His stomach twisted with the knowledge that he had kept such an important detail hidden from his friends for so long.

But it was nothing compared to the pain he saw in Hanzo’s face. It was exactly what Genji wanted to see, yet, strangely, it brought him no solace knowing that he was the reason for his brother’s distress. The archer was so visibly shaking that it was a small miracle he didn’t fall over. The taste of this small revenge was so bitter in the rogue’s mouth that he was ready to apologize, even if it was mere words.

Lightning began to crackle around Hanzo’s arms, and that drove all thoughts of humility from his mind. The pain and hurt in his eyes turned into a focused rage strong enough to awaken the dragon’s blood in his veins. Genji took a step back, ready to bolt the moment his brother charged him.

And charge him, he did, but he didn’t make it far. Reinhardt blocked his path, effortlessly scooping the archer up and into his grasp. Jesse had his sword half drawn, sidling up beside the rogue like a cautious bodyguard.

Hanzo let out an inhuman roar, a deep, throaty sound Genji could feel in his bones. The roar of a dragon, the sound that could make a hundred soldiers turn tail and flee. Yet Reinhardt stood fast and didn’t allow his hold to waver. The archer struggled, scratching at the steel armor as if that would do any good.

“Let me go!” he spat, kicking his legs like a spoiled child. “You have no right!”

“Are you going to hurt Genji?” the knight asked calmly. Hanzo’s harsh growl was all the answer he needed, apparently. Sighing heavily, Reinhardt turned to the draconic rogue. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think some time apart would be good for everyone.” With a small nod to the rest of the group, he turned to walk further into the garrison, still carrying the angrily hissing Hanzo. Surprisingly, Bastion whistled to Jesse and followed them until they were out of sight.

Several tense minutes passed as all remaining eyes went to Genji. It was the last thing he wanted at that moment. The rogue just wanted to run off and hide, to pretend that no one else had seen his childish outburst. A cold, metallic hand on his shoulder told him that he wouldn’t be able to do that, though.

“Genji…” Zenyatta began softly. The rogue knew what was coming from the almost disappointed tone in his master’s voice, and he was almost grateful when Jesse rounded on him with utter confusion written on his face.

“What in tarnation was _that_?!” The cowboy’s voice nearly cracked on the words. “Hanzo’s yer… And he… Why?! How didn’t I know this? I’ve known ya both for years!”

Genji chuckled sadly and hunched over a bit, trying to make himself smaller. “It’s… a long story…”

“I think we got the time to listen to it,” Jesse retorted, crossing his arms. “Cause right now, I’m not so sure I know either o’ you that well. And I really thought I did…”

The draconic rogue sighed and pushed his master’s hand off his shoulder. He was feeling quite tired all of a sudden, and the desire to hide only grew. “I’m sorry,” Genji said to the dirt, unsure if he should look his friend in the eye.

Very few people were coming forward to engage with this inquisition, and one of those people happened to be the winged cleric. He saw her boots approach as he kept his eyes on the ground, afraid of the look he’d see on her face. “Genji,” Angela said as she hesitantly reached out to him before pulled her hand back, “are you… alright?”

The kindness in her voice was too much for him at that moment. He froze for a moment before snapping his head back up. “I… I need to be alone right now. I won’t go far, but… I just need to be alone.”

No one stopped him as he hustled further into the garrison in the opposite direction Reinhardt had taken his brother. He didn’t think he could handle anyone at that moment, but his brother topped the list of people he didn’t want to see the most.

* * * * * * * * * *

Small bolts of lightning arced from Hanzo’s body onto the armored arms that held him. He struggled like his life depended on it, clawing at the metal and kicking as much as he could. Reinhardt ignored his actions, though, and focused on getting steadily further away from the group. The archer didn’t care. A roar was echoing in his mind, getting louder and louder until it was all he could hear. Red clouded his vision until it was all he could see. It wasn’t that Genji was alive that made him angry. No, it was the arrogance. He just stood there and dared him to take the title of kinslayer again, to finish the job he hadn’t done well enough the first time. Hanzo hated being forced to kill his brother, but he would do it all again just to remind Genji of who had walked away from that fight on their own two legs… and who had crawled away in agony, a cursed wound slowly eating him alive.

“Put me down!” the archer yelled, spitting at the man carrying him.

Reinhardt tilted his head to look at Hanzo, and through the fog of anger and hatred, he vaguely realized that the man was looking at him with an odd gentleness in his functioning eye. “Are you going to calm down and act like the adult you are?”

“I’ll tear him to shreds with my bare hands!”

“I guess that’s a no, then,” the knight sighed.

Behind them, Bastion whistled quietly and made small motions with their hand. If Hanzo had bothered to listen, then he would’ve heard the chirps of a bird answering every one of the warforged’s quips. He harrumphed, reminded of just how many hunts he’d failed because of their insistence on showing him every little find.

“What are you doing, anyway?” he huffed at Bastion. “You’re nothing but an annoyance!”

“Bee-woo…” they chirred, lowering their chest in an imitation of shrinking back, but their stride didn’t slow. Hanzo growled but didn’t say more. He just didn’t want to be a spectacle to gawk at while he fished his emotions out of the pit he’d gotten so good at throwing them down.

It couldn’t have been much longer before Hanzo finally tired himself out, but it felt like hours. The archer let out an exhausted groan as he flopped against Reinhardt’s armor. He was tired, he was hungry, and he was still recovering from the lingering feeling of harsh wounds being closed with magic after being inexpertly bandaged for a time. When he stopped struggling, Reinhardt’s stride slowed, and he found a seat next to the barracks. Somehow, they had ended up in the garrison’s training grounds, although that hardly mattered to the trio.

“Now, I’ll ask again: are you going to try attacking Genji?”

Hanzo sighed and shook his head. He still wanted to, just to put him in his place, but he had no energy to do so. He didn’t even think he had enough energy to walk on his own. The archer noted that Bastion sat heavily beside them, but it was also hard to ignore the loud creak that preceded them landing on the ground.

Much to his surprise, Reinhardt relaxed his hold, shifting the archer into a more comfortable position in his lap. He was still holding Hanzo’s shoulder, but it felt more like a formality than an earnest attempt to keep him in place. “That’s better,” the knight sighed. “Now, do you think you can tell me what happened back there?”

Shutting his eyes to the expectant gaze of the older man, Hanzo shook his head again. There was nothing he could say that would make him understand the maelstrom of feelings in his chest short of telling Reinhardt every story from his childhood and young adult life. And he just didn’t have that kind of time nor desire to do so. “You wouldn’t understand…”

“Probably not,” the knight admitted. “But… that’s why I’m asking for you to explain. I worked with both Jesse and Genji during the glory days of Overwatch. I know them well, or at least, I thought I did. I never saw your brother speak with such bite before, but Jesse always kept good company. I doubt he would travel with you if you weren’t someone we could put faith in.” He shifted a bit, rubbing Hanzo’s shoulder almost affectionately. The archer felt himself calm down a little, his limbs trembling just a bit less. He hadn’t even realized he’d been shaking.

_Why?_ Hanzo worried. He didn’t know this man at all. They had just met! _Why are you being so… kind? So patient… I’ve done nothing to deserve this. Why? Genji is right… I’m little more than a killer. I deserve nothing!_

“Why…?” the archer didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Reinhardt raised an eyebrow at him. His heart froze. He wanted to run away, to hide. He wanted to rip out his brother’s tongue, to throw him down the darkest hole. He wanted… he wanted to be hated. To ruffle his brother’s hair. To curl up and die. He most certainly didn’t want to keep talking. “Why do you care…? I’m nothing…”

“I care…” Reinhardt started, pausing to choose to his words, “because one of my friends cares.” He leaned back a bit and shrugged, his lip quirking up in a soft smile. “Also, I was the first one to get to you when you started sweating lightning, so there’s that.”

Hanzo’s laugh was bitter and half-hearted, but it was one more laugh than he expected after seeing Genji for the first time in ten years. “I suppose that’s true.” Sighing, he looked down at his lap, unable to stomach the light in Reinhardt’s eye. _Why… is he looking at me like that? Like I was not at fault… Like I’m not…_ He shook the rest of that thought from his mind. He could still feel the knight’s gaze on him and knew there was still a question hanging in the air. “You still want an explanation.”

Reinhardt grunted his agreement. “It would be appreciated, but I think our friend wants to say something first.”

Looking up, the archer saw that Bastion, who had been surprisingly quiet aside from a few low chirps, had their arm extended towards him. Ganymede was perched on the warforged’s shoulder, but it was the bird grasping their forearm that drew his attention.

Hanzo chuckled at the sight of his hawk inching forward on Bastion’s arm to get as close as he could. The archer offered his arm to the bird, and he hopped down onto Hanzo’s hand. “I did not expect to you until tomorrow, Kai,” the archer sighed as he brought his bird close to his chest, stroking the brown striped feathers. Kai crooned softly and nibbled on Hanzo’s gi, eliciting an amused chuckle from Reinhardt. “It’s good to see you well…”

“Chirr woo?”

The archer glanced back up at Bastion. They cocked their head, as did Ganymede. He sighed heavily. The warforged may not have been the most knowledgeable about when to keep quiet, but they knew how to look after the group’s animals. And when they needed to be by their masters’ sides. Hanzo looked to the side, trying to preserve some of his dignity even as he offered an apology, “Thank you. You… are not always annoying.”

Bastion booped cheerfully and turned their attention back to Ganymede. The archer’s thoughts turned briefly to Jesse and his wolf. Unlike their birds, neither of the men had seen where Tara went after the explosion that trapped them in the garrison. She was a good wolf, and even Hanzo would say it. He hoped she was back with her master, just like he was back with Kai.

“So…” Reinhardt gently prompted, rubbing the archer’s bare shoulder again, “you said you had an explanation? For why you and Genji were at each other’s throats?”

Hanzo closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Kai’s head. He didn’t really want to tell the knight everything, but he felt that he owed the man at least a basic explanation. “Yes,” he said, looking back up at Reinhardt. Back into those kind, patient eyes. “But… I would prefer not to say everything. It is… complicated… and painful…”

Reinhardt smiled softly and nodded. “Of course. You can tell me at whatever pace you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 12,465


	14. Taking Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What else can one do but change the subject?

“Well, that was… something,” Torbjörn cleared his throat. To his side, Brigitte sighed and hung her head, muttering something in her native tongue. Angela understood the words, but she wasn’t going to translate. She didn’t think it would make much difference if everyone knew just how exasperated the human artificer was.

Zarya was the next to speak up, motioning towards the barracks that were still intact. “That it was. So, are we going to discuss those brothers’ personal problems, or are we going to do something useful?”

Angela looked to Jesse. She didn’t know the archer as well as he did, but they both knew Genji. They’d been close friends back in Overwatch, and those bonds didn’t break easily. The cowboy worked his jaw, chewing his bottom lip like he had when he had a distasteful mission upcoming. Angela didn’t want to leave such a heated dispute unresolved either, but there was little they could do, having been strangers to Genji and Hanzo when the wedge was driven between the brothers.

“I must agree with miss Zarya,” Zenyatta stated while the former Overwatch members were having their silent conversation. The half-giant sneered when he spoke up, as did Torbjörn to a lesser extent, but that didn’t seem to faze him. “There is little we can do for them besides allow them both time to calm themselves. A burning rage can knock down towers, but fire makes a poor foundation itself.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jesse mumbled. “You ain’t just learned your best friends hate each others’ guts…”

Angela laid a hand on the cowboy’s shoulder as the remaining adventurers moved into one of the barracks that was at least mostly intact. “Are you feeling okay?”

Jesse didn’t appear to notice her for a moment, nodding at Fareeha to go ahead of them. “Well,” he sighed, tugging his hat off before turning to her, “no, not really.”

“You want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “I’m too tired right now, Angel. I’ve been fighting all day, and the only thing I want is to curl up by a campfire with… a buddy.”

Angela looked back to the gate, the iron and wood looking darker as the daylight spell began to fade. “Will your wolf be able to find you? I don’t think there are any holes in the wall.” His pause before saying who he wanted to cuddle with didn’t slip past her; it just wasn’t necessary to know who he really wanted to say, so she didn’t press him.

Jesse nodded. “Tara? Yeah, she’ll be fine. Ain’t never needed me before, and she won’t need me now.” Patting Angela’s hand, the cowboy started heading to the door Brigitte was holding open for the rest. “After you, milady.”

The winged cleric curtsied ever so slightly and headed in, thanking the artificer as she saw that Torbjörn had conjured another orb of hovering light within. Fareeha had taken a seat by the head of a small table meant for equally small, barracks-oriented meetings. Zarya was leaning back in a chair just short of putting her feet on the table, as comfortable as the cavalier in such a setting, if not more so. Or she would’ve been had Zenyatta not been sitting across from her. The half-giant was tense enough that one could almost tip her over just by breathing on her. Angela, Jesse, and Brigitte joined them, collecting empty seats that had been strewn across the building. When they were all settled, Fareeha took a deep breath.

“First, as the only known remaining member of the Helix Guard, I must thank you all for rushing to our aid to look for survivors. I’ll be checking around the garrison to see if our attackers missed anyone, but…” She paused, her meaning clear even if her words were unspoken. Jesse gently clasped her on the shoulder, his way of showing her that, even though she was likely the only survivor, she was in good company. Angela and Torbjörn nodded in agreement. The cavalier’s eyes shown with unshed tears for the briefest of moments, and then she continued, “Next, while I don’t know why the Vishkari attacked us in particular, I have a guess.”

Torbjörn scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “No offense to your deductive skills, but they’ve been trying to bust down the borders for years. Vishkar’s not going to gain much of a foothold here just because one garrison’s been destroyed.”

Zarya and Zenyatta both turned quickly to the dwarven artificer. Unlike the others, they were not so used to his blunt choice of words and straightforward attitude, and it showed on at least Zarya’s face. “Watch your words, old man,” the half-giant cautioned. She sat up straighter in her seat, towering over him even more so than one usually would. “These were soldiers who lost their lives here. Show them the respect they deserve.”

“It’s fine,” Fareeha interjected calmly. “I’m glad for your insight, Torbjörn. I know that we weren’t that much of a bolster to the forces on the border, but we are… were a highly mobile unit. Perhaps they saw some advantage in clipping our wings permanently…”

Angela listened intently to all of the information being shared. Locations, strength of forces, and how they might be able to track the retreating Vishkari were all ideas being tossed around, trying to make sense of the battle. The winged cleric said little, mostly adding her voice whenever one person or another was getting a bit too snappy towards another. They had settled on using the artificers’ skills to follow the magical aura left by the teleportation spell when she remembered an important fact.

“Wait,” Angela asked, her soft request enough to cut through Jesse’s huff about how his tracking skills would be of great use once the magic ran out. “When I came here during the initial assault, I’d actually been going to Claford to aid the clerics there. There have been multiple attacks by nearby raiders, and many of their soldiers are coming home wounded and exhausted. I received the request for aid in a summons, but now… It only started up a few months ago, and the last reports said they were scaling up. I… didn’t think anything of it, but now, with everything happening here, with Vishkar… maybe it was their doing.”

Zarya leaned over the table and fixed her with a focused gaze. “You think Vishkar attacked the Guard because they’re attacking another city? That would split their forces, would it not?”

“It would,” Fareeha trailed off before adding, “unless they’re using a covert unit. The mages who attacked here didn’t have any simple fighters among them. They all used magic to some degree, so they had to be an elite unit. But that’s not as important right now! You said Claford, yes? We were preparing to send reinforcements out there! If Vishkar is behind those attacks, then there would be every reason to strike here first.”

“They want to put pressure on the eastern border’s best defense, so they take out the first backup they’d get… Yeah, I can see it.” Jesse hadn’t contributed much to the conversation besides confirming or denying the feasibility of using certain trails to march an army, but Fareeha’s excitement was contagious. They had an idea of what was going on, and that was more than they had an hour ago.

A yawn from Brigitte cut their celebration short, though. “That’s great. It really is… but it’s getting late, and I’m getting tired. How about we pause this talk and get some sleep? I can’t even start tracking them via magic until tomorrow, so if we still want to follow the specific mages who were here, we’re going to still be making plans next morning.”

“A good plan,” Zenyatta said, inclining his head. “I can keep watch, if that would put some minds at ease.”

Zarya growled at the warforged monk, and Angela leaned back, worried that some of that aggression would hit her as well. “I would be better at ease with a worg watching my back. I’ll take the first watch.” The half-giant left no room for argument.

Jesse and Fareeha volunteered to take the other watches so all of the spellcasters could get the rest they needed to renew their spells. As Angela folded her wings back to lay down on one of the barracks’ cots, her thoughts turned to Genji. The soft bickering of Brigitte and Torbjörn about what spells would be better if they encountered the Vishkari with more prep time lulled her into sleep, but she was still worried.

_Genji… I hope you’re alright. Please come back soon; I’d feel better with you around. Pelor… may your light watch over him until he no longer wishes to be alone… and, if you can, help him calm his heart._

* * * * * * * * * *

Zarya’s hands moved quickly to strike the flint and steel together, sparks flying onto the bundle of tinder she set up on the ground just outside the barracks. Magic was useful, but it was also unnecessary most of the time. The half-giant hadn’t even requested the artificers create some artificial light to use during their watch. It was like the thought didn’t even occur to her. Zenyatta was quite similar, preferring a mundane method to achieve a task if doing so was feasible.

Maybe that was why he didn’t feel very pushed back by her continued insults as they began the first watch together.

“What are you looking at?” she hissed as the fire crackled to life. Its soft glow bathed her face in red and orange, a perfect accent for the embers of distaste burning in her eyes.

Zenyatta let his head tilt to the side a bit. In truth, he didn’t really know, only that he was looking down at her while she worked to urge the fire into something they could see by. The warforged monk squatted down so he could be at eye level with her. It did nothing to soften her gaze, but it felt right to continue their conversation from equal ground. He considered his response for a moment, and then replied, “A noble warrior. At least, that is what you have shown yourself to be so far.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, tin can.” A rogue spark popped into the air, reflecting in her eyes as if on cue. Zenyatta wanted to call the sight beautiful, but he would never call something created in hatred such a lovely word.

“If it is flattery to speak one’s thoughts, then I shall continue to do so.”

“Tsk!” Zarya snapped her vision back to the fire. They sat in silence as the flames caught onto the wood and began burning in earnest. The warforged turned his attention back to the dark garrison around them, watching for any movement that might signal an enemy’s approach. He was used to quiet company, so such a tense arrangement didn’t bother him much. But it didn’t seem like Zarya was as comfortable with the idea of silent hatred.

“I’m watching you, forged,” she breathed, barely a whisper drifting past his ears. “The moment you betray us, I’ll be waiting with my axe, and it will be hungry.”

Zenyatta wished he could sigh. This would be the perfect time to do so. Alas, no one thought to make constructs with that ability, so he just shook his head slightly. “I’m afraid you will be waiting a very long time, then.”

“Unlikely.”

The certainty in her voice made his artificial heart sink. He was used to people disliking him due to his nature, but outright distrust was uncommon at best. There were places to the north where tensions ran high between warforged and their squishier neighbors, it was true, yet such sentiments rarely traveled into the heart of the country. “I look forward to…” Zenyatta hesitated. It would be so easy to say that he’d prove her wrong, but those weren’t the words he needed. “… to earning your trust,” he said after a moment’s consideration.

“You could more easily teach a stone to sing.”

“Perhaps… but that would be nowhere near as worthwhile.”

Zarya scowled but remained silent, looking back out into the blackness. Zenyatta did the same, content to leave her to her thoughts as he returned to his. After a while, the warforged retrieved some slips of paper from his pack and began folding it slowing yet precisely. It was just something to keep his hands busy during the night, an easy but time-consuming task he could practice when everyone else was asleep. Genji had shown him the basics years ago when they first became friends. Cranes, frogs, and foxes had become so easy with practice that Zenyatta could make several without even looking at the paper. But he had never contented himself with sticking to what was easy. After setting a simple fox – one he made just to warm up – to his side, the warforged monk began a far more complicated creation that required him to at least look at the paper every once in a while to ensure that all the folds were in the right places.

Zarya glanced at his work every so often with a perplexed look on her face. Neither spoke, but he placed his next piece – a creature from a far-off land called an elephant – a little further from himself. Closer to the half-giant woman. She pretended to ignore the small gesture, but he noticed that she kept looking down at the origami animals.

By the time Zarya’s watch was over and she needed to get some sleep, there was one less paper dragon on the ground than the warforged had made. If he’d had the ability to do so, Zenyatta would’ve smiled as he saw the half-giant slip something into her pocket as she got up to wake Fareeha for the next shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. I'd especially like to know if anything sounds or feels forced, as I'd like to avoid doing so in the future.
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 17,674


	15. Hide From the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being alone can help, but it can never last too long.

Genji spent the night lying on top of the walls under the stars. His stomach kept doing somersaults, reminding him of his earlier outburst. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Hanzo; what the draconic rogue wanted was his brother back. This man – the one with such a stern face and stiff posture – was not his brother… and yet it was. Genji imagined the archer felt similar, seeing a stranger wearing a face he knew.

Running away had not helped, but he didn’t want to rejoin the others. Not so soon after showing them his most childish side. His sleep was a bit fitful, half out of worry that he was alone and half from his dreams repeating the last few hours over and over again.

When morning came, he knew what he had to do. This lingering hatred was a poison, just like the self-loathing he felt after Angela’s remedy made him look more like his draconic ancestor than the man he was. It had to go.

Genji made his way back to the others shortly after the sun rose. They were already up and about, Brigitte in the middle of casting some sort of spell with Torbjörn’s assistance. The rogue skirted around the casters, alerting Zenyatta to his presence by tapping him on the shoulder. He imagined the warforged was smiling as he turned to his student.

“Good morning, Genji. I was wondering when you’d rejoin us.” Zenyatta’s voice carried the smile his face couldn’t make.

The draconic rogue opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a single word, two voices cut through the idle chatter. “Genji!” both Angela and Jesse exclaimed as they noticed his arrival. The cowboy nearly ran up to Genji and swept him up in a hug while the winged cleric stayed back a bit, even as she leaned towards him a bit.

“Ah! Yes, good morning, Jesse. Could… could you please put me down?” He let out a heavy sigh as the cowboy reluctantly put him back on the ground. “Why the friendly greeting, though? I thought you were angry.”

“Oh, I’m still pissed, don’t you think I’m not,” Jesse huffed. “I just ain’t spittin’ fire ‘cause you didn’t look so good before you ran off either. Why didn’t you ever tell us he was your brother?”

In truth, Genji didn’t know the answer to that question either. It was something he needed to think on at length, but he could offer at least a simple explanation. One that he believed was true in part. “He is still my brother,” the draconic rogue said, “and I did not want anyone else to hurt him at first. Later… it was just more comfortable to keep a secret.”

“Guess that makes sense,” the cowboy said as he crossed his arms and pouted a bit.

Angela took the pause to finally reach out and put her hand on Genji’s shoulder. She smiled softly, and he felt a smile tug at his lips as well. “I’m just glad you’re safe. Given everything that’s happened… please don’t run off like that again.”

The draconic rogue nodded sheepishly. His master agreed as well, but before he could ask to speak with Zenyatta alone, Brigitte hopped to her feet.

“I know where they went!” she cheered. Turning to the others, she puffed out her chest a bit and said, “That teleportation spell left a trail of residual magic leading north, so unless she’s really bad at casting, then they should’ve showed back up somewhere to the north.”

“North? But if you go much further north, you’d end up in Vishkar territory. It may not be easy catching up with them.” Fareeha’s statement hung heavy over their heads. Lumerico was a small country bordering Omnica that just recently fell to the Vishkari invasion. It made sense that the mages would retreat there, but it made following them a bit harder.

Genji didn’t know why they would want to pursue their attackers, but he knew he must’ve missed some discussion about their next step. If Zenyatta decided this was a course worth following, then Genji would join. It just seemed like the artificer’s discovery wasn’t completely what they wanted to find.

“That’s… the opposite direction of Claford,” Angela sighed, hanging her head.

“Claford?” the draconic rogue asked. “You thought Vishkari mages would retreat to Claford?”

“Naw. Angel here was heading there before all this happened,” Jesse waved his hand at the garrison, some of his usual good cheer returning. “She thought that maybe the ‘bandit attacks’ there could be a part of Vishkar’s campaign, seeing as we don’t know who’s doing the attackin’ there. Uh, since we’re playin’ hero, did we still want to see if the two are related?”

“Good morning, my friends!” A booming voice startled everyone before they recognized the voice. The only person who wasn’t fazed in the slightest was Torbjörn, who laughed at how Jesse clung to both Genji and Angela as Reinhardt approached. “So, what have we missed?”

Genji craned his neck to look at the knight… and he couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the old man smiling broadly while carrying a red-faced Hanzo in one arm.

* * * * * * * * * *

_“… Our clan did not approve of his… exploits. I had to punish him… I thought I had killed him…”_

_“But you didn’t?”_

_“I did! Or… I believed I had… My only brother… I had to leave… And then he has the audacity not to tell me he survived!”_

_“Well, you did try to kill him.”_

_“I did not want to! He knew that!”_

_“Are you so sure?”_

_“I…!”_

_“I worked with him after Angela saved him. Genji never said anything to suggest he knew that.”_

_“…”_

Hanzo awoke exhausted and slightly embarrassed. Not even Jesse knew of the archer’s past, and yet, the night before, he’d been telling his life story to a complete stranger while Bastion listened silently. He had no idea why it just felt safer saying these things to someone who had absolutely no investment in continuing a friendship with him. Or maybe that was exactly the reason, and Hanzo just didn’t want to admit that he only did so because there was no risk. Nothing to lose by turning the knight away with the truth.

And Reinhardt hadn’t accused him at all, merely asked the questions he needed to ask and listened. Hanzo couldn’t even feign annoyance at such patience and fell asleep on top of the giant of a man with Kai nestled on his leg.

Then he realized that he was still curled up in Reinhardt’s embrace, and his slight shame turned into red-face embarrassment. Realizing that the knight was up and walking, and that they were approaching the rest of the group, turned that embarrassment into a straight-up desire to implode on the spot.

“Good morning, my friends! So, what have we missed?”

Hanzo couldn’t enjoy the hearty rumble in Reinhardt’s chest with so many eyes on him. Genji’s mocking laugh especially forced the last vestige of calm to vanish, and the archer leapt out of the knight’s arm. Kai screeched indignantly at being forced to take wing, but getting on his feet mattered far more to Hanzo than providing a lap for his companion to perch on.

“Aha! Welcome back to the land of the living, Hanzo,” Reinhardt boomed, slapping a hand against his back with more force than he probably intended. The archer stiffened. He felt like a fish out of water, so used to being alone or feared to the point of avoidance that he had to think what the appropriate response would be. The clunk of Bastion’s feet coming up behind them hardly registered in the face of such uncertainty.

“You, uh, certainly looked comfortable,” Jesse quipped, still holding onto his friends. Genji was pushing the cowboy off of them, though, and they were all standing on their own very soon after. “There ain’t any more secrets that might make y’all start killing each other, right?”

Hanzo shook off the feeling of Reinhardt’s hand on his back. He was a trained assassin, not some shy, blushing maiden. “There are not,” the archer stated. “Unless someone else has something to share.”

The consensus he heard in the murmurs among the other people gathered there told him that there wasn’t anything else important, and so Fareeha cleared her throat and began explaining the situation to those who joined late. Hanzo hardly paid attention to the specifics; he didn’t want to get involved in the first place. If not for Reinhardt, he may have left already. Now… now he didn’t know why he didn’t just leave. According to the cavalier, they were chasing down their attackers in order to determine what was truly happening. Whatever they found would likely be reported to the Oxastol guard when they arrived and possibly even to the Omnic army, if their suspicions proved accurate. It was a purpose, a goal that Hanzo could work towards. He hadn’t felt like he was so relevant in… years. _Yes,_ he thought, _that must be it. I can make a real impact. The Shimada name will once again be known throughout the kingdoms._

But his gaze kept going back to Genji. His brother looked older, with a little less baby fat around his cheeks and a bit of scruff on his chin. The archer hadn’t noticed it at first through all the scales and horns and tail that swished back and forth. He was also actually paying attention… a far cry from the boy who would groan at any direction that took more than a minute to explain and then whine when their father’s orders kept him from taking yet another village maid to his bed. And yet he was still Genji.

_Didn’t we want him to be more responsible?_ Hanzo thought as he furrowed his brow in thought. _Of course he would act like an adult after he left… was forced to leave… the clan… No. No, that is not the brother I knew…_

“Bee voo-wee?”

The archer was drawn from his internal conversation by a curious tone in Bastion’s voice. They poked his shoulder lightly and pointed to the rest of the group, several of who were looking at him expectantly. It took a moment for him to realize their most recent question had been directed at him. The archer felt the light burning of panic in his chest before Jesse piped up, looking slightly to Hanzo’s side even as he addressed him.

“You, uh, want to stick with us, then?”

Hanzo nodded, unsure what he’d just agreed to but unwilling to ask anyone to repeat themselves. Whatever it was, it had surprised the cowboy slightly, but Bastion booped quite happily, and Reinhardt clapped him on the back again.

“I guess we’ll be spending a lot more time together, then. I look forward to it!”

Torbjörn dramatically rolled his eyes, chuckling, “Try not to wear out the young’uns, for once. We’ll need ‘em to lead the way once we reach the end of this ‘magic residue’ trail.” Beside him, Brigitte looked as tired as Hanzo felt. He wondered just what the artificers knew about the large man that would make them act like they were being forced to look after an overactive puppy.

It was Genji who drew his attention, though. When the archer met his brother’s eyes, he saw the draconic rogue deflate, his shoulders sinking as he visibly sighed. Hanzo felt a snarl curl at his lips, realizing that he would be traveling with this stranger, this man who claimed to be his brother but hardly acted like it, but then Genji spoke again. “It appears you will not have to worry about keeping the peace, Master. We can hardly be at each other’s throats if we’re in different countries.”

Hanzo pushed the knowledge that his brother just referred to a warforged as his master to the side. If they would be in different countries, then that must’ve meant they were splitting up the party. He groaned at himself, wishing that he had been paying more attention to the plan and focusing less on reconciling the draconic rogue as the man he had attempted to kill years ago. Hanzo shoved his confliction further into the back of his mind, only paying attention to the person who was speaking.

“The it’s decided,” Fareeha nodded. “Reinhardt and Jesse will follow Brigitte’s trail and locate the Vishkari mages. Angela and I will continue to Claford with Genji. Zarya, you said you would also join us?”

“Yes, you could use the extra muscle. And I have plenty of that.” As if to emphasize her point, the half-giant flexed her arm, showing off the corded muscles.

The cavalier’s lips quirked up at the sight. “We would welcome your aid. If anyone finds something of note, we’ll send a message to the other group. Now, we should be leaving soon to make the most of our daylight. One last sweep for supplies, and then we’ll be off.”

Hanzo leaned back against a building as the others dispersed to talk in hushed tones or actually gather supplies they might need. Reinhardt stayed nearby, though he and Torbjörn started chatting about the knight’s armor. _He’s just here in case I attack Genji,_ the archer told himself. Genji himself was discussing something with Jesse, and he would’ve strained himself to hear what they were talking about had Zenyatta not approached him.

“What do you want?” Hanzo scowled deeply at the warforged monk. He wasn’t in the mood to make friends. Or enemies, which was what he typically made anyway.

Zenyatta stopped a few feet away from him and tilted his head a bit, as if considering his options. “Genji has been my student for some time now,” he said calmly. “He did not speak of you that often, though. I suppose I wish to learn more about the man who has had such a strong impact on him.”

“You wish to know more?” the archer scoffed. He saw no reason for someone, especially one of Genji’s close friends, to spend time around him. _Why would anyone want to know what I’ve done? It is my burden to bear, not theirs._ “Go ask him. I have nothing to say to you.”

Hanzo expected the warforged to push back, to give some reason why he couldn’t talk to Genji about his familial relations. But Zenyatta merely inclined his head. “Very well. I will not force you to divulge anything you are not willing to share. When we next meet, I hope it will be in better circumstances.”

The archer raised an eyebrow. First Reinhardt, and then Zenyatta… this patience and respect was not something he was used to. Even as the eldest son of the Shimada clan, people held their tongues for fear of what would happen to them, not how it would affect him. _But I deserve none of it!_ Hanzo reminded himself of that one fact again and again until they were ready to set out and Genji shared one last look with his brother.

“I’m sorry… brother.”

It was the last thing Hanzo heard before the groups split at the gate, each following their own path into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 22,640


	16. Fool's Errands

Jesse’s heart was a mess, and his head wasn’t much better. The only thing that brought him some measure of reassurance was how Tara bounded up to him through the trees once the garrison was out of sight. There was little small talk as Brigitte pointed them in the right direction, and Jesse made sure they weren’t about to walk into a bear’s den or snake nest. Bastion took up the rear with Hanzo while the older men forged ahead. After a few hours, the trees thinned, giving way to tall grass and yellow rocks that gave the Golden Hills its name.

The cowboy trusted that Torbjörn and Reinhardt could tell what was a dangerous path with such open spaces and slowed his pace until he was beside Hanzo. He didn’t say anything immediately, glancing at his friend’s furrowed brow a few times to see if he was truly angry or just resting his face.

“So…” Jesse sighed, hooking his thumbs into his belt, “I’ve seen you do some bone-headed stuff, but… I ain’t never seen you that angry before. What gives?”

 _Eloquence, thy name is not Jesse McCree,_ he kicked himself a bit. There was a history that he wasn’t privy to, yet he felt he needed to know it, and there was no good way to ask for that information.

Hanzo slowly turned his head to look Jesse in the eye. His frown was deeper than normal, and he paused before answering, “Do you remember when I said… that there are some things I can never atone for?”

“Well, yeah, but… Oh…” _You meant Genji… and since he’s alive, then you’ve been kicking yourself for no reason._ Jesse looked away when Hanzo did. When they started working together as rangers, the archer had said many things that Jesse initially wrote off as someone who just didn’t have a good opinion of himself. Maybe he did a few bad things, but he hadn’t expected Hanzo to actually do something on the level of fratricide. “Doesn’t really explain why you’d attack him. Sounds like you were really broken up over it the last time.”

Hanzo let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes briefly. The crunch of dry grass beneath their feet filled the pause so Jesse almost didn’t catch that he’d started talking again. “I lost my temper. That’s all.”

“You start sparking like a lightning bug when you lose it?” The cowboy raised his hands in the air, mimicking a small explosion complete with amateur sound effects.

The archer rolled his eyes at the sight, but the faintest hint of a smirk made acting like a fool worth it to Jesse. “If that were it, then you would be nothing more than a pile of charred bones.”

Jesse chuckled. Several times in the past, he’d made a bull-headed move that Hanzo would have to deal with. “I don’t doubt it. So…”

“I do not wish to discuss it at this time,” the archer said tersely.

If he was being honest with himself, Jesse was getting annoyed by this evasiveness. _Ain’t I a friend? Dammit, Hanzo, just let me in._ “Why not? I ain’t never judged you before, and I ain’t gonna start now.”

Hanzo took a deep breath before glancing back over to the cowboy. “That is precisely why I cannot tell you now. Jesse, you… are my only friend. And anyone who knows what happened has turned away from me.”

“I won’t abandon you. I swear!”

“I want to believe that,” the archer sighed, “and there is a part of me that wants to talk your ear off… but not now.”

Jesse moaned in annoyance. If he pushed any more, he’d never hear the story. It left a twisted feeling in his stomach, but the cowboy set his questions to the side… and asked something simpler.

“So, if I’m your only friend, what does that make Kai?”

Tara barked at his side, and he nearly missed the smile that graced Hanzo’s features. “A better companion than you, apparently.”

Reinhardt’s resounding laugh was the only sign that anyone heard his quip at all. Above, the hawk screeched and the sun didn’t seem as overcast for the first time that day.

* * * * * * * * * *

Even back when Overwatch was at the height of its run, Reinhardt had been a sociable man. He was the first to say hello and the last to say goodbye, ready to offer a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on when things got rough. Most would run themselves ragged trying to be everyone’s protector, but the knight thrived when he was needed. He could lift a hundred spirits and still be ready for more.

When the sun passed its zenith, and the two rangers once again drifted into uncomfortable silence, Reinhardt felt the desire to offer his aid once again.

“What’s with the long faces, my friends?” he asked, sweeping one of the smaller men into each of his arms. Hanzo made an involuntary gasp from the sudden change in altitude, but Jesse was far too used to such behavior. “The weather is fair, and you’re among good fellows. Have all your smiles grown shy?”

Bastion beeped happily behind them, but Hanzo was anything but pleased. “Is grabbing someone just how giants greet one another? Put me down!”

Jesse chuckled at the outburst, patting the knight’s arm as his face fell slightly. “Don’t worry, big guy. He just don’t like being up high if he didn’t climb the tree himself.”

“Really? It’s been some time since I was able to climb a tree. Let me know how the view is next time,” Reinhardt sighed. He set the other men down as soon as possible, though. In the absence of a scared rogue backing away from the archer, there was no reason to keep him restrained.

Hanzo mumbled his thanks and drifted closer to Bastion. Jesse just shrugged when Reinhardt gave him a confused look. “It ain’t you. He’s just… a bit hard to get along with.”

“He seemed quite pleasant last night,” the knight said, before adding, “At least, when we were alone. After he stopped trying to electrocute everyone.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell ya, old man. You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

If he were a shier man, his heart might have skipped a beat or three at the cowboy’s words. As it were, he barely missed a step as he leaned down and lowered his voice. “Is it that obvious?”

Jesse tipped his hat. A coyote would have trouble matching the sly grin on his face. “I’ve only ever seen you carry one other person into public while they were sleeping, and that was Ana. Still surprised she didn’t stick you full of arrows after that.”

“How do you know she didn’t?” He laughed softly, but he didn’t feel the mirth as well as he usually did. “I miss her…”

“We all do,” the cowboy sighed. He raised a hand to pat the older man on the back, though he had to stand on his toes to fully reach his shoulder. It wasn’t often that someone tried to comfort Reinhardt; usually it was the other way around. But it was nice, even if Jesse was a bit taller than he was used to, with larger hands more used to the hilt of a sword than the grip of a crossbow.

Their path grew steeper as they began crossing a hill that rose up higher than the rest they’d been traversing. The conversations halted as they had to pay attention to where they were putting their feet. It wouldn’t do to take a tumble when they didn’t know what was coming up next. Reinhardt and Bastion fell behind, their armor making it difficult to climb in spots, so they had to find alternate routes up. The warforged was actually helping the knight navigate a particularly slippery patch of gravel near the top of the hill when they heard Brigitte call out to the rest of the party.

“If that isn’t where our mage friends teleported to, then I’ll be a goblin’s uncle.”

Reinhardt scrambled up the rest of the way, stopping behind the young artificer. Ahead of them, nestled in a shallow valley between two rocky hills, stood a fortress of gray stone. It might have been used as a watchtower when it was in its prime, but now it hardly looked like it could pass as a weathered silo. The walls were crumbling in places, and more than a few ballista bolts jutted out from the sides. Dark patches resembled the explosion from a fireball, faded with time but clearly visible even a mile away. Only one parapet remained standing, and it looked like it might fall over if a particularly strong wind came along.

“We must be on the border already. Omnic engineering is far sturdier than this Lumeri rubbish,” Torbjörn commented.

Reinhardt leaned on his knees to catch his breath after the long hike, but he nodded to his dwarven friend. He had more experience tearing walls down than building them up, so he deferred to Torbjörn’s opinion. “Still looks like a vicious battle was waged there. I doubt they would stay there long if they needed to lick their wounds, correct?”

“Heh, you’d be right about that.”

Hanzo had pulled ahead a bit, navigating the downward slope with ease. Jesse made to follow but stopped to look back at the older men. “I’m guessin’ it’d be good sense to be a mite more careful from here on,” he said. “Hanzo and I were gonna scout ahead. Ain’t as good at going unnoticed out here, but pretty sure we’ll be less of a target than you guys.”

Reinhardt let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing in the vast openness of the plains. Ahead of them, Hanzo flinched and whirled around to glare at the knight, making an over-exaggerated shushing motion. Laughing a bit sheepishly, Reinhardt lowered his voice as much as he really could. “You would certainly be a smaller target than me, but no one can take the title of smallest target from our diminutive friend here.”

He barely felt Torbjörn’s fist connecting with his leg, but he held his side in mock pain anyway. Jesse snickered and rolled his eyes, dashing off to catch up with the archer and their furred and feathered friends. Bastion followed them at a distance, and Brigitte joined after Reinhardt gave her a wave to go ahead of him. With the younger members of their party out of easy earshot, the knight leaned lower to speak with his old friend. “You must think this a fool’s errand.”

The dwarf sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re talking to the idiot who climbed a warforged charger in his skivvies just to disable it. And I believe you were close to doing the same. I don’t believe in fool’s errands; there’s just plans with less chance of success.” He began trudging down the same ill-defined path their younger companions had gone down, and Reinhardt fell in step with him. Climbing down was just as much a challenge for the heavily armored man as going up had been, and so he didn’t even need to slow his pace more to match Torbjörn’s small stride. When the path leveled out somewhat, he spoke again, “But if fool’s errands did exist, then yes, this would be one.”

“Because of the raiders, yes?”

“Those silly nobles sitting in their towers with their tea and crumpets… a few pirates plaguing the capital are hardly concerning when there’s an army milling about the border. I don’t care if it’s not ‘technically’ Vishkar territory. They’re sitting right there, making faces and sticking out their tongues until we do something stupid… which we have.”

“Mm,” the knight nodded solemnly. Even if they were to uncover plans for an all-out assault, there would be little they could do. The Omnic army might be mobilized once they had cause to do so, but it wouldn’t be in time. Not unless Vishkar was underprepared and not ready to strike so quickly. “Well, that’s never really stopped us before.”

“I don’t think a brick wall could stop you. If all I do is keep that armor of yours from falling apart, then I’ll consider it a success.”

Reinhardt suppressed the urge to laugh, choosing instead to keep the banter going with a light, “You’ll have to fight Brigitte for that honor. And she has just as much bite per foot as you do.”

Their conversation went something along the same line up until they were almost at the watchtower and the next leg of their journey.

* * * * * * * * * *

_Three ounces of sulfur… mix in water… add wolfsbane… makes a poison… add ground beholder eye… makes a paste… some clay… heat it up… Boom!..._

Jamison tapped his peg leg on the marble floor, mentally listing off alchemical recipes as he counted measurements on his fingers. It had only been a day since they fled, but that was enough peace and quiet to make him jittery and anxious. That prince of hers had summoned Satya practically the moment they arrived in Umesa, Lumerico’s largest city, and had ordered the mongrelfolk and his associate to stay outside. He had been quite insistent on that point.

Or, as Mako had growled after the door was shut practically in his face, quite rude. And Jamison agreed.

The mansion Satya had led them to was so much cleaner than those structures that still stood in the Badlands. It was hard to find water in the desert, much less soap, and so everything just accumulated dust and dirt until no one could tell what color it was supposed to be. The mongrelfolk had been in these fancy, clean, planned out buildings since leaving his sandy home, but at those times, he and Mako were usually being chased out at the end of a pitchfork. Not always because they left sooty footprints everywhere.

“Behave yourself,” the ogre mage rumbled. His stomach was bare as always, but not even a scar remained from their encounter with the half-giant woman and her tin can of a flanker. Despite the lack of physical injuries, he’d remained pretty quiet on their trek back. More so than usual.

A passing servant gave the pair an undisguised sneer, and Jamison started counting the number of ounces of tarrasque blood he’d need to make the city topple over like dominoes. He was quite aware that they looked out of place amidst the white marble floor and vaulted ceilings and intricately carved pillars, but it wasn’t his fault they were there. Jamison grumbled, “Yeah, yeah. Of course I’ll be on me best behavior… Don’t mean I gotta like it!”

Mako grunted noncommittally. He looked like he wasn’t paying attention to anything besides the misshapen fabric in his hands. It slowly took the shape of a pig, and some well-placed stitches held it in place. Jamison was still amazed that he could handle a needle and thread with such large hands; the mongrelfolk was the right size to use those tools, yet he ended up losing the thread and stabbed himself repeatedly the first time Mako let him patch up his clothing.

The halls were quiet, and Jamison clicked his tongue while he thought to keep the silence at bay. Beyond the doors across from them, Satya’s crisp tones and Pyjahr’s deep growls drifted in and out. But it wasn’t good enough background noise for him, and not even a full minute had passed before he turned back to the ogre mage.

“I swear, mate, if I gotta sit on me hands another day, I’m jus’ gonna go out and blow up tha’ fancy pants fountain. Or maybe tha’ bloke who spat on ya might end up havin’ a li’l… accident.” The mongrelfolk snickered, already thinking of how much black powder he’d need to make it a spectacle for all to see.

Mako sighed heavily. Jamison couldn’t see his eyes past the black glass set in his mask, but he could feel the man looking at him. “That’s not good behavior…”

“I said I’ll be on me ‘best’ behavior,” Jamison huffed, crossing his arms and turning his nose up in an unsubtle mockery of the nobility they were forced to interact with. “An’ if I don’t get to blast something to smithereens, then _I’ll_ be the one who’s blowin’ up!”

“That would be a sight to see.”

The distinctly feminine voice cut through all of the Badlanders’ thoughts, and they jumped to attention, panicking about how much their employer had heard and what they were planning to do about it. Jamison spat out the first words he could think of while spinning around, trying to find the voice’s source. “I can blow meself up, if that’d be better for ya, magey! I still got an arm an’ a leg left! Jus’ say the place, an’ I’ll do it! Swear on me mum!”

The lady – whoever it was – started giggling slightly, but the men didn’t see anyone else in the hall. Mako looked down at the mongrelfolk, but Jamison didn’t have an answer either. In the Badlands, he would’ve written it off as a rogue gas vent messing with their heads. Here, though, there was no explanation.

Until the very air in front of them appeared to part, revealing a young woman in a brilliantly purple and violet jacket leaning against the door, clapping slowly and smiling like a cat. Her black hair was styled in an undercut and turned purple near the ends, and her painted nails looked sharp enough to cut cloth. The moment she appeared, she pushed off the door and leaned forward, tilting her head just enough so her hair fell away from her face. “Oh you don’t have to do that for little old me. Seriously. Prince kitty cat wouldn’t be happy if his favorite girl had to replace her only demolitionist.”

Jamison couldn’t scowl fast enough. _Invisible?! I hate it when they do that. It’s the easiest way to get yourself killed… an’ I may just do it anyway._ “Oi! Didn’t yer mum ever teach ya manners? Droppin’ eaves ain’t nice!”

“Bwah ha ha!” the woman burst threw her head back in laughter. “That’s delicious… coming from the man who wanted some poor food vender to have an ‘accident.’” She swung around, easily resting against the wall beside the mongrelfolk. “But… that can just be our little secret… if you tell me who ran such strong men like you out of that garrison.”

“Can’t you jus’ ask yer ‘Prince kitty cat’ what got us there? Might save ya a few minutes.” Jamison crossed his arms defiantly, as if that would stop someone who was willing to break invisibility just to present some half-baked blackmail.

“Well… I could,” the woman smirked. She sighed wistfully and sauntered around the hall, gesturing at the two occasionally. “But that’s just not as fun. And a girl’s got to entertain herself somehow.”

 _Bottle o’ birch an’ snakeoil’d keep ya “entertained” just as well,_ the mongrelfolk thought as his eyes twitched. If she hadn’t been needling him, he might have actually liked her. And that was just a shame. “I got some other ways o’ havin’ fun, girl. Hop on outside an’ I’ll show ya…”

“Jamison…” Mako grasped his shoulder firmly. He stepped closer to the woman, whose smile dropped a bit when his shadow fell over her more petite form. “Some rangers wandered in, and then two other groups of four each came in after them. Does that answer your question?”

“Aw, mate, why’d ya hafta tell ‘er?” Jamison whined. “Bloody mages can’t get what they want jus’ by snappin’ their fingers. We’re better than that!”

Despite having an answer, the woman didn’t look too happy. At least, she didn’t look happy for the split second before she plastered a fake smile on her face. “You’re friend has much better manners than you do… mate.” She tapped his nose quickly. “Boop!”

Jamison couldn’t tell exactly when she’d cast the spell that turned her invisible, but when she leaned away from the men, she faded from view, and Satya walked out of the meeting room.

The mage-crafter took one look at the Badlanders and raised an eyebrow. “I can’t have been in there that long.”

It took a moment for Jamison to realize that he was still glaring. His anger at being yanked around like a high-strung noble disappeared practically the instant Satya joined them, and the smile he gave wasn’t forced in the slightest. “Course not, magey. You’re perfect. Erm… none o’ your mages would be fond o’ turnin’ invisible an’ harrassin’ poor li’l alchemists, would they?”

“That sounds like one of our assassins, actually.” Prince Pyjahr strode out behind her with all the grace of a man raised to be royalty from birth. Satya’s cat was perched on his shoulder, and strands of grey fur were still visible on his robes, peppering the black velvet. “Sombra, most likely. If she’s here, then it means Amelie is ahead of schedule. I hate to greet and run, but alas, we are allowed little time to relax. Lady Vaswani,” the rakshasa took one of the mage-crafter’s hands in his and raised it, almost as if he meant to kiss her knuckles but stopped short, “I take it you can rely my father’s orders from here. Take care, and I shall see you at the victory celebration.”

With that, Pyjahr strode off down the hall. Once he was out of sight, Jamison pointed down his throat and made gagging noises. He wouldn’t say anything bad about the prince – in fact, he was one of the best employers they had ever had – but there were times he wanted to tell the rakshasa to loosen up and stop treating everyone like a noble lady or gentleman. Satya, too, breathed a sigh of relief when they were alone, crossing her arms before looking back at him and Mako.

“As expected, King Taevarth was most displeased that we could not hold the garrison, but the crown prince was able to convince him that it was necessary. Now, we are to head east, where we will join up with the forces leading the charge against Claford.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed again. “And Jamison, please don’t act so childish in Prince Pyjahr’s presence. I have seen him eviscerate mercenaries for less than merely sticking their tongues out at him.”

Jamison’s smile grew wider at the news. “If it means we get back out into the fray soon, then I’ll take a bath and dance the Chirpendine! When do we leave?”

Mako kept a hold of the mongrelfolk, which was the only thing keeping him from hopping all over the clean floors, and the mage-crafter groaned. “We leave once you have any and all mixtures ready that require a laboratory. From the prince’s briefing, it seems there will be little such space for complex alchemy where we’ll be staying.”

While he rarely used such fancy language, Jamison knew that nothing less than a cackle would suffice to describe the way he laughed as he bounded off as quickly as his peg leg would allow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.
> 
> I may have greatly overestimated my ability to keep a hugely fast pace with writing, so updates will primarily be on Tuesday from now on. I may update on Saturday from time to time, but it will be entirely dependent on whether or not I have a chapter ready.
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 23,824


	17. In the Sun Too Long

“What manner of demons plague your thoughts, my student? Would you be willing to tell me?”

Once upon a time, Genji would’ve moaned at such words. He detested anyone poking their nose into his business and private life, and so he snapped at many people throughout his youth. It was one of many things he wished he could take back, but at least now, he didn’t shy from Zenyatta’s calm questions. The rogue knew that if he told the warforged monk that he didn’t want to talk about it, then he would leave him be.

“I am worried that I have made an irreparable error,” Genji spoke softly. He could feel Zarya’s eyes on his master’s back as keenly as if she had her gaze aimed at him. The rogue thought he could dodge her axe if she turned it against them, but he’d rather not give her a reason to do so in the first place. “I’ve always looked up to Hanzo, even when he raised his blade against me. I hoped that, if we ever crossed paths again, we could be brothers again.” Genji cast his gaze to the gravel on the road, glad that Zenyatta did not push him to speak faster or “get to the point.” The warforged didn’t nag anyone unless they were on a tight schedule. Like if their lives depended on it. But that rarely happened. “Yet, when I saw him again… and Jesse spoke so highly of him… all I could think of was hurting him the way he hurt me. I thought… I thought I was better than that.”

Zenyatta hardly seemed bothered by their audience of one, continuing to speak with the rogue as if they were within the private confines of a temple sanctum. He just omitted more words than usual. “That you recognize your error means that you are better than you think. It is easy to say we forgive someone in their absence, but in their presence, we may feel that an eye for an eye is better.” Zenyatta paused to put a metal hand on his shoulder. It was a gentle pressure, a reminder that the warforged was his friend and would stand by him so long as he strove to be that “better person” he knew he could be.

Genji smiled and sighed. “Mm-hm… I worry, though, that I have crushed any hope of reconciling. It’s been so long already…”

“Your apology did not go unnoticed. Building a bridge worn so thin by time and neglect may be difficult, but you don’t need to do it alone.”

The draconic rogue was always amazed that Zenyatta could say the things he needed to hear so often and so consistently. Zarya scoffed behind them, but he ignored it. The half-giant wasn’t the one whose opinion he sought out when he needed advice. Instead of responding, Genji looked at the two women who had taken the lead. Fareeha had been mostly silent except to chat with Angela about the proper care of gryphons. The winged cleric herself kept looking over her shoulder but always turned around quickly when her eyes met Genji’s. _She must still think me a childish man for saying such cruel things to my brother. Not that she doesn’t have reason to believe such. I said so many things after she saved me…_

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, bowing his head to the warforged monk, “I believe Angela has something to say to me.” With an acknowledging bow from Zenyatta, Genji padded forward, catching up with the other women and falling in step with them.

“Hm?” the cavalier narrowed her eyes ever so slightly at his approach. “I thought you’d be chatting with your warforged friend the entire day.”

Genji laughed softly but shook his head. “I can talk with him all day, but that wouldn’t be very social of me, would it?”

“Not really, no,” Fareeha said. “Did you have something you wanted to discuss?” The draconic rogue glanced at Angela, who scratched the back of her head shyly. “Oh,” she exhaled. “I’ll check the path ahead. Don’t want to run into bandits if we can help it.” She pulled herself into Nassor’s saddle and spurred him to take off. The gryphon screeched as he bounded forward, like a puppy after a new toy, and launched them both into the air.

In the sudden silence, Genji wasn’t entirely sure how to start. Unlike Zenyatta, it had been years since he had even a mildly personal conversation with Angela. Not knowing what she would say just added to his worry that he would say something wrong and turn her away from him like he’d done to her, back when Overwatch was still an order one could have pride in.

“I’m…” he began, continuing only once the winged cleric had turned to face him, “… I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“Scaring me?” Angela raised her eyebrows, wide eyes questioning what he had done to believe he needed to apologize.

Genji felt a blush rise in his cheeks… one not completely born of embarrassment. “Last night. I suppose it would make more sense to say that I’m sorry for worrying you. I shouldn’t have left the group like that, but I acted childishly and… um, I…” He snapped his fingers and closed his eyes as he tried to think of a good way to explain what he was feeling after snapping at Hanzo.

“You didn’t want to embarrass yourself more?” she offered.

The draconic rogue laughed out loud and nodded vigorously. It was something that he should’ve been embarrassed about, being called out like that, but he couldn’t feel bad when Angela was trying to hide a smile behind her hand. Moments like these reminded him of why Jesse’s nickname for her was Angel. “I wouldn’t have worded it like that, but you’re right,” Genji sighed when he got his laughter under control. “I’ll try not to do it again. I should act more mature, and Hanzo doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.”

“Hmph!” The way Angela huffed made him recoil in confusion. Of all people, he would’ve expected her to be against hurting others. But instead, she glared at the road ahead, crossing her arms as her wings trembled. “With what he did to you, he deserved everything he got.”

Genji nearly stopped walking just to put a hand on her arm. She was such a kind person that it was wrong for her to be so angry with one person. He could sense mild panic rising in his gut, like this was what she would be like forever going forward. “Angela…” The winged cleric turned to look at him, and part of his distress melted as he saw tears gathering in her blue eyes. He didn’t want her to feel sorrow either, but that didn’t feel so fundamentally wrong for her. “If anyone should be upset with him, it’s me. But I don’t want to drive him away. Hanzo can be a good person… and a good brother. It can just be hard to see. And it will be hidden forever if everything he does from now on is overshadowed by that one moment.” _I’ve been spending too much time listening to Zenyatta. I’m beginning to speak like him._

Angela’s eyes lingered on him before turning back to the road and the trees around them. Her body relaxed slightly, but the anger was still there, if only a bit. “Remember that I was there. I saw what the curse did to you. I… I can’t believe that anyone could do that while even a shred of goodness remained.”

“It exists,” the draconic rogue said, more certain than ever that what he said was true. “Like I said, it’s just hard to see through the scowl.”

Genji bit the inside of his lip. He wanted her to understand. He didn’t know why it was so important, but it was, so as the winged cleric sighed and let her arms drop to her sides, Genji smiled again. Without realizing it, his hand had slid down her arm and took her hand in his. And it hardly mattered since she gave him a silent squeeze of reassurance.

“I don’t think I can forgive him,” she said slowly, “but if you want to, I won’t object. It’s your choice, after all.”

“That’s all I ask. Thank you, Angela.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Omnica was a varied country, with numerous forests interspersed between the rocky plains and rising mountains. It made it easy to start up towns near where farmers planted their barns, and from towns rose cities. And from those cities came the glorious city-state of Claford. While the people there still paid taxes to and obeyed the will of Omnica’s rulers, it had its own borders marked by rivers and ravines formed by centuries of farming. It was little over a day to get to the outermost town from the garrison, but it took another day and a half of navigating the extensive farmland to reach the jewel of Claford, the city of Flario.

Flario was far more advanced than most other cities. Mages helped construct most of the buildings, so they were able to reach high into the sky, where mundane architecture hadn’t found a solution to do the same. The result was a gracefully flowing city whose skyline rose from the ground towards the Claford College tower at its heart. It wasn’t the college that was their destination, however.

Angela ignored the odd, questioning looks her group received as they strode through the boulevard towards the temple district. Clafordians were a far less homogenous people than elsewhere in the country, mainly due to mages coming from all walks of life and all races, but the fact that they were walking through town – instead of using some more magical form of transportation – was cause enough for wonder.

And then, of course, there were the many magic wielders walking the streets. They had a different sort of interest than the general populace, but it was no less stressful. Genji in particular drew more attention than elsewhere. Several times, Fareeha had to step between the draconic rogue and an overly curious wizard who just wouldn’t leave him be. It was after one elven woman decked from head to toe in silver robes asked Genji to return to her lab that he finally spoke up.

“While I am grateful no one is raising pitchforks and screaming for me to leave,” he sighed as the cavalier shooed the elf away, “I am worried for my safety. The other priests at your temple won’t… prod me like that, will they?”

Angela smiled as she led them on, easily passing through the throngs of people just going about their lives. “Of course not,” she reassured the apprehensive rogue. “Their concern lies in healing the sick, not pestering those in health. It has been some time since I was last to this temple in particular, though, so some of my newer brothers and sisters may be… interested, at least.”

“I can handle 'interested,'” he replied, waiting for his master to finish telling some kids to go back to their parents instead of harass Zarya for one more climb on her shoulders. “It’s 'determined' that worries me.”

Nassor gave a sharp chirp as he and the cavalier returned to the group. Fareeha sighed heavily, a weight on her shoulders that Angela could guess the cause of. She admired the woman for soldiering through like she was, but it couldn’t have been healthy. In fact, it wasn’t. The winged cleric had seen something similar in Genji’s stance before he left Overwatch. But aches of the soul weren’t something she could easily heal; Zenyatta seemed far more suited to that than she was.

“They worry me, as well,” Fareeha added, rolling her shoulder to stretch out the muscles strained by holding her gryphon from charging every shifty-eyed halfling they passed. “But I’m surprised. No one’s approached you as they have the rest of us.”

Angela’s smile widened. She stopped near an opening in the streets where a fountain provided a natural dead space for them to rest without worrying about the traffic to either side. “The high mages here work closely with some of the temples to contact celestial planes,” she explained as she waited for the warforged and half-giant to catch up. It was a shame they had a mission to complete, otherwise they could’ve entertained the children for hours. Such levity was welcome in these times, especially for the young ones. Angela sat on the edge of the fountain, sighing at the spray that sprinkled her wings and cooled them in the midday light. “It’s not surprising that some of the angelic messengers they encounter find something to love about the people here… and thus people like me aren’t all that uncommon. Half-celestials, that is.”

“That makes sense,” Genji said. Zenyatta joined their congregation then, and the draconic rogue greeted him cheerfully. “I see you were able to escape your adoring fans, master.”

“He escaped nothing,” Zarya snorted. “They ran from him, as well they should.”

The warforged just tilted his head back at the half-giant. “Ah, then that must be why Jame would not let go of my hand when I said we had somewhere to be. She just couldn’t wait to get away from me.”

Angela tried not to snicker at the dry sarcasm nearly dripping from his voice, but it was hard when Genji was chuckling behind his hand, and Fareeha was doubled over in laughter. Zarya huffed and pouted as she crossed her arms. The winged cleric almost felt bad for her. Almost.

“Whatever the reason we no longer have a young flock of followers,” she said, hiding the last of her chuckles, “we should get moving. I’m already behind schedule and wasn’t able to tell the temple that I would be delayed. It’s not too much farther.”

The rest of the trek was nothing more than pushing their way through the crowds before the bodies parted out of respect for the temple district. It was hardly a large section of the city – only a few actual temples sat within its boundaries – but the spaces between the sturdy, stone buildings were dedicated to smaller shrines and peaceful gardens where pious citizens came to pray or simply escape the hustle of city life. Nestled in a corner, between courtyards full of regal trees and acolytes busy with their studies, stood the temple of Pelor. The warmth of the Sun God permeated everything within its walls, and Angela felt at home just stepping into the yard, her wings fluttering despite the still air. _It’s been too long,_ she thought, taking a moment to inhale the scent of the apple trees, which had barely reached her shoulder back when the high priest took her in. _I really should come here more often. If only my work would be so accommodating…_

Their arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed, as no sooner than the group approached the main door did a bespectacled man in white and gold robes run to greet them. “Angela? Is that you?” he nearly shouted, stumbling over flagstones and small bushes to get to the winged cleric as quickly as possible. “We were so worried! There was news of what happened with Helix, and I knew you were stopping by there before coming here, and… Oh, it’s such a relief to see you!” He threw his arms around Angela and hugged her tightly before letting go to look her in the eye. “You must tell me how your journey fared and who these fine fellows with you are. Please, come in. Come in!”

Angela snorted softly at the man’s eagerness and joy. He had joined the clergy at around the same time she did but chose to stay instead of joining Torbjörn when the dwarf joined Overwatch. She bowed respectfully to him even as he motioned for them to come inside. “It’s good to see you as well, Brusco. There was some trouble on my way here, but… well, I’ll tell you once introductions are out of the way.”

She turned to Genji, ready to introduce her newer friends to her old friend, but the priest shook his head. “Introductions, yes. However, you must be hungry if you’ve only just arrived. We have bread and cheese for a light lunch, and I’d be quite remiss not to feed our guests.”

It looked like Zarya wanted to object. She may have even had a good rebuttal had Brusco not flitted around the group, nudging all five of them into the temple itself. In a whirl of quick directions to the acolytes and maneuvering them individually, the priest had them all seated in one of the side rooms meant for their visitors. As a gnomish acolyte set food on the table, introductions were made, and Angela settled into her chair, glad that some things didn’t change.

The priest was ready to just chat for hours, so she had to get him back on track. “Brusco,” the winged cleric interjected as he rattled on about philosophy with Zenyatta, much to the warforged’s confusion, “I’d love to stay and catch up, but there are more pressing matters. I can’t have been called away from the capital for no reason.”

“Yes,” Fareeha nodded. Her voice was serious, a stark contrast to the light tones shared by the others. Like the sudden silence after the curtain drops in a theater, everyone’s light laughter petered out, the reality of the situation reasserting itself in their minds. “Angela has told us that there are raiders striking against your city. It may be unrelated, but if there’s even the slightest chance that the Guard was attacked because of them… I need to know.”

Brusco sighed and leaned forward, folding his hands in front of his face. “You heard correctly. I don’t know the whole details, but soldiers have struck at Flario. To little success, thank the heavens, but the caravans and travelers between us the smaller towns are far easier targets. We’ve been called to go with the city guards multiple times, and each time, we lose more and more men. I heard rumors that the Council was ready to call upon the Helix Guard. That… will not work anymore.”

Angela laid a hand on his shoulder. It seemed that no one was having an easy time of things. The room was quiet for a moment before Fareeha spoke up again. “Wait. You said ‘soldiers.’ Were we mistaken about who was attacking?”

“You’re not. Not really,” the priest hastily added. “They just seem far too organized to be raiders. And too many farmers have come to us after their fields were razed. They don’t take anything!” Brusco half stood up from his chair, slamming his hands down as if that would do something. The panicked look on his face told them everything. He quickly turned his face down, realizing how loud he’d become. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just want some good news…”

Genji slid out of his seat and moved to comfort the priest just as Angela was, patting his back kindly. Fareeha stood as well, pounding a fist over her heart in a warrior’s salute. “Your good news will not be long in coming,” she stated with all the confidence of one used to telling people not to worry. “I am alive, and so long as I draw breath, the Helix Guard is with you.”

“And we are here, as well,” Angela said in a much softer voice. It tore her up to see an old friend in such a state. He had always been the one to shout words of optimism from the rooftops, charging into situations headfirst if even a sliver of hope existed.

Brusco took in a deep breath and let it out. Looking back up, her gave a weary smile to the winged cleric and draconic rogue before turning back to Fareeha. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I apologize that you had to see me in such a state.”

“You’re worried. That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Zarya said for what felt like the first time in ages. “But surely we aren’t the only help that’s arrived. What of the army?”

“The Council didn’t think it necessary to call upon their aid,” the priest huffed, crossing his arms as he nodded for the others to sit back down. “And they wouldn’t have time to get here soon even if we did ask. The remaining guards have brought in mercenaries, though, so you are right. In a sense.” He sat down and folded his hands again, looking once more like the teacher he always aimed to be. “Given your array of questions, I’m guessing you plan on joining them in striking back against our assailants?”

“If that is what it takes to find out what they’re doing, then yes,” Fareeha said, and everyone else nodded.

Angela could feel the butterflies on anticipation begin to flutter as she saw that they were all on the same page. They would be finding out what these raiders may or may not have in common with the Vishkari, and that was information worth getting excited over. She stilled herself as best she could, but her wings still rustled with excitement and worry.

The half-giant was cocking her head to the side, observing the others – and Zenyatta, from her side-eyed glances – as subtly as one her size could. The winged cleric couldn’t read her mind, but her next words didn’t surprise her at all. “Well, then, if there’s nothing else of importance here, perhaps we should meet with these mercenaries and compare notes.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” Brusco stuttered. He turned to Angela and sighed. “I do wish we could catch up, but duty takes precedence. I can show you to our guard-captain’s house, where a majority of the mercenaries are staying, and introduce you.”

The winged cleric nearly snickered as she saw him fiddling with his hands. He didn’t bite his tongue like some, but the habits he replaced it with were far more noticeable. “You’re going to drag me back here once we’re done, aren’t you?”

“Pelor himself could not stop me,” the priest smirked. He quickly dropped it, though, and just smiled sheepishly. “Not that He would… Well, I’d probably acquiesce if asked politely, but… You know what I meant. I’ll show you to the guardhouse now.”

Brusco stepped over to the door and politely asked the group to follow him. After Fareeha was able to get Zarya to stop laughing at him for two seconds, they all joined him and went back down the streets to meet the guard-captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated.
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 25,043


	18. Breathing Room

Lena really wished she could heal. Even a little bit would be nice, like her mom’s way of making her cuts and scrapes disappear with just a little bit of ointment. Just something to make continuing the fight a bit more bearable. The shallow cuts marring her arm and shoulder weren’t bad, but the halfling felt a sharp jab of pain any time she moved too quickly. Lena sniffled a bit as she twirled her daggers around, hoping the action would go unnoticed by her friends.

“What’s wrong?” the chubby human kneeling beside her inquired. “Well, besides the obvious. Is there, uh, something we can do? To help? Or something? Y-you know what I mean?”

The halfling chuckled lightly. “Nothing I can’t handle, Mei. I’ve been in lots worse scrapes than this. We’ll be sippin’ cocoa back in town before you know it.” She threw the other woman a real cheeky grin and a wink. It didn’t matter that they were hiding behind a boulder while Winston bought them some time to re-evaluate their plans; this was exactly the time for silly talk and sappy flirting.

Mei smiled, spinning the staff in her hands a bit as her cheeks turned red. “Okay. When we get back, I’ll even pay for that cocoa.” The white ermine familiar on her shoulder chirped at the prospect of a tasty treat and dashed around the boulder at a word from her master. The raggedly-dressed raiders weren’t paying as much attention to them since the giant gorilla started berserking and flailing his massive arms through their ranks, so Snowball easily weaved around the fighters to squeeze into a crevice that provided her with a better view of the field. Mei closed her eyes as she interpreted the images her familiar sent back to her. “It looks like some of them are panicking. A few good spells, and we’ll definitely be back home for dinner.”

If only Lena had as much confidence in her own words as Mei did. The halfling was mostly bluster on the best of days, but now she was running low on spells. _Maybe chasing these guys without backup wasn’t the best idea,_ she groaned internally. _Damn bloody vultures! If those blokes haven’t run off with their gold, then I’ll give ‘em what for the moment we’re back!_ Lena tried not to think about the other mercenaries assigned to escort a trader’s caravan from the farms to Flario. When the raiders struck, they had held the line, but the moment their attackers fell back, only she, Mei, and Winston had leapt at the chance to give chase. It was like the others didn’t _want_ to get rid of the raiders once and for all.

Unfortunately, that meant her small group quickly found themselves outnumbered the moment they got into the Dwarf Forest. The miniscule trees provided enough cover that Lena didn’t see the other raiders lurking behind a steep incline until it was too late to retreat easily. The halfling had never really been up against such bad odds, but, then again, she also wasn’t sure how a giant gorilla factored into the equation. Surely it gave them a slight advantage… or so she hoped. The screams of terror and the crunch of massive arms connecting with bodies among the unintelligible roars made it seem like less of a suicide plan than usual.

Spinning her daggers around again, Lena nodded. “Okay, luv, here’s the plan. I’ll flank around back and hamstring a few o’ them tossers while Winston’s got ‘em busy. Can you an’ your fluff noodle throw down some chills for ‘em?”

“How much of a chill do you want?” Mei flexed her fingers, forming a small vortex of frigid energy above her palm.

The halfling woman felt her heart swell with admiration. Mei had come so far from the wreck of a human being they had found shivering in that northern outpost. It made her glad that Winston insisted on visiting the old ruins of a forgotten god; they might never have met her otherwise. _And we ain’t sayin’ our eternal farewells today! Still got a few spells left; let’s make ‘em count!_

With a flick of her hand, Lena cast her own spell, teleporting a short distance across the battlefield. There were a few archers dressed in hunting leathers peppering her gorilla friend with arrows, and the halfling wasn’t letting that fly. Winston looked like he was about to calm down, and then he’d be in real trouble, with no anger-induced toughness to back him up. Lena reappeared behind the archers, daggers at the ready. At only three feet tall, their legs were within perfect striking distance.

“Hey, boys! Miss me?” she chirped.

The men hardly had time to react before Lena lashed out, slicing through the unarmored section at the back of their knees. Two of the archers cried out in pain and collapsed, unable to stand with a severed tendon. The halfling cheered as the other three archers whirled around to look at her sudden arrival. One man – an orc with the sheen of breastplate hiding under the rough leathers – raised his bow to strike her while the others backed away, aiming their arrows at her instead of the gorilla harassing their fellows.

Lena smirked. “Aw, sorry, boys. Gotta go!” She waved her hand and uttered a few arcane words. As the orc’s bow fell, she sidestepped and faded from view. In the chaos of a skirmish, they couldn’t pay attention to the fallen leaves for her footprints as an invisible Lena snuck around them, ready to slice again. They obviously hadn’t learned their lesson because no one thought to turn around until after she’d gotten one more archer, cutting through his knee with only slightly more difficulty than the first two. The orc bellowed in his guttural tongue and threw his bow to the ground. He and the remaining human archer drew long, jagged swords instead, and that was Lena’s cue to leave.

To her back, she could hear Winston’s roars slowing to a stop as his rage wore off. _Time to group up with the big guy!_ The halfling cast her short-range teleportation spell again and was by the gorilla’s side in a flash. The red haze had faded completely from his eyes, seeing the odds he was taking on with a clear mind and clear panic. He threw a yellow painted wood token to the ground, and a bubble of semi-transparent, blue energy sprouted up to surround them both.

“Whoa!” Lena shouted in surprise as the bubble cut them off from their enemies. “A Sanctuary token? Don’t you save those for bad situations?”

Winston looked down to his miniature friend and gave a sheepish smile. She didn’t know if he’d even noticed her before the bubble went up. Maybe it was a sign that they’d been friends way too long. “Sorry about that. I panicked.” Looking back to the fighters testing the energy barrier now blocking their attacks, his smile faded, replaced by furrowed brows and a slight scowl. “I’d say this counts, though.”

“Rubbish! Besides, you’re safe from our Mei now.”

The gorilla whirled his head around, raising an eyebrow much higher than the other. “Wait. What? Where’s Mei?”

As if on cue, the human wizard’s shouts came from near the top of the closest hill. Every word was in an arcane tongue that hadn’t been used by normal folk for millennia. Lena clapped excitedly as she caught Mei’s eye, giddy at the sight of the beautiful woman clad in furs and pointing her staff at the cluster of men trying to get to them. Frost began to form over Winston’s barrier as the magic coalesced, slowing the raiders down as the temperature dropped alarmingly low. A man dressed in well-worn leathers – most likely the leader or an elite fighter – barked for the others to get back, but it was too late. One final word from Mei, and the spell exploded. Pure cold erupted from within their ranks, freezing them in place as ice coated their arms and legs.

Lena wished she could revel in the light-hearted laughter the human wizard let out as she said, “Chill out!” But there was no time for such puns. Winston would probably drag them both back to town by their shirt collars if they engaged in a contest of who could make the worst pun, anyway. More to the point, there was only so much time before the ice thawed. Now was the time to strike, and the halfling knew it.

“Okay, big guy, drop the shield!” Lena twirled her daggers, ready to charge ahead the moment the sanctuary dropped and allowed them out of its safety.

“Lena…” The caution in his voice made her look up at him, and the worry on his face had her heart falling into her stomach. “That’s not how my magic works.”

The halfling’s eyes widened at the realization. “Oh… shit… We’re stuck in here until the spell wears off, aren’t we?” Winston nodded, and Lena spun on her foot to see Mei backing up, Snowball dashing up her leg and into the semi-safety of her furred hood. The elite raider and a couple men – who hadn’t been caught in the blast – were picking their way through the snow slicked grass and fallen needles to get to the wizard. “Run, love! We’ll be safe for a bit!”

“Keep casting!” the gorilla added. He may have been the youngest among them, but he knew the capabilities of mages just as well as the two women. While he and Lena were trapped in the barrier, Mei was on her own. The more spells she could get off before she was caught within striking distance of the swordsmen, the better off she’d be.

Mei shuffled backwards a bit, turning halfway around only when her foot hit the start of the incline. As she slid down the side, making arcane gestures with her free hand and whispering something under her breath, the elite fighter was gaining on her. He cleared the frozen ground and charged her, broadsword at his side and ready to swing out. She wouldn’t be able to finish her spell before he sliced her in two. _Oh gods! Mei! Yondalla… Pelor… someone, help her!_

A piercing shriek rang out from the sky, echoing slightly off the hills. It sounded a lot like an eagle’s cry but far louder than any regular eagle could produce. Lena wouldn’t even have acknowledged it were it not for the shadow that passed over them. Both she and Winston spared a glance up to see a brown-feathered gryphon fly over them, its rider clad in blue tinted armor. Her heart leapt into her mouth. As if things weren’t bad enough, they now had an unknown to deal with.

However, as the rider turned around to fly back to the skirmish, the halfling saw that the thawed fighters had paused to look at the new arrival as well. It had given Mei enough time to get out of the direct path of harm, her spell raising a wall of thick ice between her and the elite fighter as she finished it with a flourish. Lena let out the biggest breath she hadn’t known she was holding and turned to Winston for a moment. “How long ‘til this bubble pops? I don’t think I can wait much longer!”

The gorilla was still staring at the gryphon rider, who’d begun circling the fight like a vulture seeking out the best piece of carrion. He narrowed his eyes and adjusted his glasses before replying with, “About a minute… Don’t the Helix Guard ride gryphons?”

“Well, yeah,” she whined. He generally had good points about several things they did, but this didn’t seem particularly important at the moment. “But they’re gone! You were literally right there when the cap gave us the bad news. And I don’t want to think about having to fight zombies or somethin’ like that.”

“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t dead.”

The squeal Lena made at hearing that voice was nothing short of ear piercingly happy. She nearly ran into the barrier as she rushed towards her old friend, whom had just landed behind them. “Angie! Didn’t think I’d see you here! Uh… you wouldn’t happen to know who that is flappin’ about up there, would you?”

Angela giggled. “That’s Fareeha. The rest of our group isn’t far behind. Now, who should we be worried about?”

“I… uh… well…” The halfling couldn’t get the words she wanted out of her mouth. She may well have started crying if she didn’t force back her tears. She had come so close to giving up, so close to just abandoning her hope that they’d live happily ever after. It didn’t matter that the raiders were beginning to dart around the barrier to go after Angela; they weren’t completely doomed.

Winston took over for her, speaking quickly so the cleric could fly to safety. “We’re the only ones here. Mei’s hiding behind that ice wall, too. Anyone else is a bad guy.”

Angela nodded and hopped back, pushing herself off the ground. Lena forgot just how angelic the cleric looked when she actually bothered to use her wings. The raiders swung as soon as they had a clear shot, but their swords didn’t even brush the soles of her boots. One cursed loudly… and then spun into the barrier, a long gash across his torso. Lena hadn’t noticed before, but more men had also arrived, one of whom she recognized well. Genji moved with the grace of a feline dancer, easily striking his enemies down with powerful swings from his katana. A rapier-wielding elf and hulking orc went off to one side, going after the lone elite fighter. To the other side, a warforged rushed ahead of a towering woman with a greataxe, aiming for the rest of the raiders.

On the other side of Winston’s barrier, the men Mei had frozen were finally thawing out just in time for the gryphon to swoop into their ranks talons first. Fareeha struck with her halberd as they went by, cutting deeply into one man’s back and sending him flying to the ground. The archers further back had their bows in hand again and were trying to shoot her down, but to no avail.

It was like one of those tales told around the campfire when adventurers tried to one up eachother in terms of heroics. Lena thought people exaggerated for dramatic effect, but it seemed that maybe those stories weren’t all tall tales. As soon as the barrier faded, she jumped into the fray, ready to kick back and chat with her friends the moment they finished off the raiders. Her tongue would surely be working by then.

In the joy of the turning tides, the halfling forgot that the reports stated there were far more than the mere dozen raiders they were currently engaged in battle with plaguing Claford… and at least one of the injured raiders had already retreated into the woods.

* * * * * * * * * *

There was no feeling better than being able to help those in need. Angela believed this more than anything else, even if helping involved cutting someone else’s life short. A man who attacked and killed was still a man, after all. She uttered a prayer for the lives they ended even as she hovered above the field, ready to swoop in with her healing spells should someone need it.

The cleric had yet to be needed in that capacity, though. Fareeha spun and twisted through the air on Nassor’s back, every arrow aimed at her back flying wide of its target. Genji darted about the field, slipping past the raiders’ defenses to strike and moving on before they could hit him. Despite her protests to working with a “filthy ‘forged,” Zarya finished off the enemies Zenyatta flanked with frightening efficiency. She couldn’t draw her weapon back for a second swing as quickly as others could, and she didn’t have to as the warforged monk practically danced among the raiders, paralyzing one, then two men with a flurry of blows. Boris and Alder were two of the mercenaries her small group had met at the guard-captain’s office, and it was obvious that they had worked together for several years due to how well they drove the elite fighter back from the rest of his men. The wizard, Mei, whom Winston had told her about, was hiding behind some large rocks, but Angela didn’t blame her in the slightest. She didn’t know just how many spells the woman had used before their arrival.

Then there were Lena and Winston. Angela hadn’t worked with them extensively in Overwatch, but the halfling hadn’t needed her once since they joined the fight. _Either you’ve gotten smarter or you’ve been chugging healing draughts like cheap wine,_ she thought with a shake of her head. The winged cleric drifted to the ground near Genji as he pulled away from the scuffle for a moment, victory well within sight.

“You haven’t been injured, have you?” she inquired, knowing well what the answer would be. The draconic rogue had nary a scratch on him, much to her delight.

He snickered and shook his head. “No, I merely did not want to get in the way. There is little I can add to this fight.”

Angela agreed, nodding as she took stock of the situation again. Only a few of the main force remained standing against Zarya, the elite fighter had found himself crowded closer to the others yet it was not to his advantage anymore, and Winston had taken out the last archer with a well-placed acid grenade. “I do believe you’re right. It will be nice to chat with Lena again once we’re done here.”

“Very…” The draconic rogue trailed off and cocked his head, as if straining to listen to something in the distance. Angela was about to ask what he noticed, but she didn’t have to.

A trail of black smoke flew across the ground, cresting the hill at the raiders’ backs before diving down into the thick of things. It was far darker than smoke had any right to be and twisted around like thousands of tiny insects seeking out their next meal. It stopped at the combatants’ backs, coiling on the ground.

Genji screamed, “Behind you!” But he was a fraction of a second too late.

The smoke rose and partially coalesced into the form of a man cowled in black. Sharp plates of black armor shielded his legs, arms, and torso, ending in clawed gauntlets that curled around the hilts of his swords. The clothing he wore under the armor was the same shade and seemed to blend into it even without the smoke drifting from his form. He had a long coat on which billowed out behind him, and a hood shielded his head from view. And under that hood he wore a bone white mask shaped like an owl’s face, haunting in its simplicity and how it shielded even the man’s eyes from view. “Die…” he said, so quietly Angela wasn’t even sure he had said it at all.

He kept spinning as if he was still just a wisp, but the short swords in his hands were all too real. He lashed out at the orc, the first hit slicing his shoulder open, and the second plunging through his neck.

“Die…” the smoky man hissed, his voice so raspy that Angela couldn’t tell what race he was supposed to be under the mask.

Alder turned just in time to see him glide on from Boris’s gurgling form. He raised his rapier to parry, but the man hit the blade with such force that he knocked if from the elf’s hand. The next strike sunk his blade between Alder’s eyes.

“Die!” he shouted, turning to Zenyatta, both swords raised to slice the warforged in two.

Zenyatta only half turned around, still fending off the raider he had been attempting to hit. Angela found her voice caught in her throat at the sight, one blade catching him in the back even as Genji leapt forward with his katana drawn. The warforged monk let out a harsh yelp that sounded more like a dozen pieces of steel hitting each other at once. Before the second blade rent him completely in half, Zarya grabbed his arm and threw him out of the way, raising her axe to block the rest of the smoky man’s blows. She grunted as he struck with a roar of frustration, shattering both blades against the solid haft. He threw the useless blades to the ground and backed away, his feet finally solidifying with a crunch on the dry leaves.

The winged cleric dashed forward to where Zenyatta had fallen to the ground. Her spells were meant for knitting flesh and bone back together, not stone and metal, but she could still mend the portions of his body that were made of wood. A whispered prayer to the Sun Lord, and the magic washed over his body. The warforged monk thanked her silently, waving her back to the battle where she would be needed.

Angela turned in time to see the masked man step away from Genji’s assault, drawing two more short swords from within his coat. The draconic rogue was shouting in a language she didn’t understand, but the intent was clear from the harshness in every syllable. He lunged forward with gritted teeth, swinging his katana with all the force he could muster, but the masked man deflected each blow as if it were nothing.

“Pathetic…” he growled, sending Genji sprawling to the ground with a well-placed kick to his chest. “You haven’t improved at all, have you?”

The words hit Angela like a slap to the face. _That voice… why does it sound so familiar?_ she thought, hardly noticing Zarya charging towards the man with her axe at the ready. The winged cleric startled when the half-giant’s swing actually hit, although it wasn’t a perfect strike. The axe blade went far, so the haft was the only part that struck. But it was enough – a solid hit to the back of his head – and made the masked man grunt and knock his mask off.

“It… can’t be…” Angela breathed. There were more scars than she was used to, and wisps of smoke rose from his dark skin like steam off a hot spring, but that was a face she would never forget. “Gabriel!”

The masked man huffed and shifted back into a coil of smoke, reforming once he had retreated to the top of the hill away from everyone else. Angela moved as if compelled, flying over to the man she had thought dead for years. He lifted his gaze as she landed before him, holding his head where Zarya had struck him. The winged cleric wasn’t afraid of the snarl on his face or the glare in his eyes. He had never hurt her, not once. His actions just moments before were so far from her mind at that moment.

“Gabriel! Gabe… I… I…” she choked out, reaching out to cup his cheeks. “I… I thought you were dead… I… I missed you.” Tears fell freely from her eyes. It had been so long since they had been in each other’s arms, comforting each other when their work became too harsh or too dangerous.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, as if in confusion, before his snarl fell away, and he caressed her cheek. The metallic claws were cold on her face, and there was no warmth to his skin, but that was of so little importance. Gabriel was there, he was real, and he was alive. “Angela?”

“Y-yes! It’s me. It’s me. I’m here,” the winged cleric whimpered. Somewhere that felt far away, Genji was shouting for her to be careful, for her to get away from that murderer. _What murderer?_ she thought. _This is Gabe… He’s not a murderer._

He leaned in, lips almost brushing her ear, and he whispered, “Gabriel’s dead.”

“Wha-” Angela gasped, her words cut off as his hand went to her neck and squeezed. Gabriel pulled away, no love or affection in those cold eyes as he lifted her off the ground. She tried to breathe, to pull in some air to fill her lungs, but his grip just got tighter and tighter. Blackness crept in on the edges of her vision, and she clawed at his hand to no avail. Never before had she seen the former Grey Guard captain so angry, with such a harsh snarl on his face. Her heart went cold at the realization that this man – a man she had shared her bed with – was forcing the life from her body. Her tears fell still, this time in sorrow and fear instead of joy.

“Now you’ll join him,” the man huffed, and Angela finally fell into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. This is the chapter that got me to change this fic's rating, so please let me know if I made the right call by upping the rating to M.
> 
> NaNoWriMo word count as of posting this chapter: 29,219
> 
> EDIT: So, today's update is actually a prologue instead of the next chapter, so if you're wondering where that new chapter is, please check the beginning. I felt it could use a bit more oomph to open the story, so the chapter 18 will take a bit longer to come out. Thanks to everyone for their patience and support.


	19. Bent and Broken Bonds

“Angela!”

Genji couldn’t breathe. Angela’s hands dropped to her sides, and her wings ceased fluttering, but the hooded man didn’t let go. Forcing his legs to carry him up the hill, he could feel his feet slipping on the fallen leaves. He couldn’t fall, though, not while Angela was still in that man’s grasp. The draconic rogue raised his sword and let out an inhuman shriek. It drew the hooded man’s attention, and Genji felt a chill run down his spine as he met those blood red eyes.

“Get away from her, you monster!”

He wasn’t sure if he was the one to scream those words or if it was someone else. All that he was sure of was the sudden burning in his throat and the sight of Nassor pouncing onto the hooded man. Before the gryphon could pin him against the earth, he dissolved into smoke and flew away, disappearing behind the hill. As Fareeha cursed and swore at the man’s cowardly actions, Genji dashed forward to catch Angela, discarding his sword like a broken walking stick.

Genji held her close to his chest, aware of just how light she was in his arms. He choked back his worry and laid his ear over her heart, straining to hear anything over his own panicked breathing. Footsteps, both small and large, approached from behind, but he gave them as much mind as he did the hooded man’s growls for his men to retreat.

_Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead… Oh gods, please… Don’t take her yet. Not like this…_

The draconic rogue held his breath, closing his eyes to block out all he could of the world. All that mattered was whether or not he could hear that tiny thump-thump of a heartbeat. “Angela…”

In the absence of his own breathing, Genji faintly made out a quiet beating in her chest, followed by a stuttering gasp. He let out a warm sigh, a chuckle working its way into his voice as his fear was replaced with tentative joy.

“Is she…?”

Genji looked up to see Fareeha standing nearby, awkwardly holding her hand out, as she had been about to place it on his shoulder. He stared at her with a dumbfounded expression for a moment. His mind filled in the rest of her question, but not soon enough for him not to feel a bit annoyed that she didn’t finish it herself. “She breathes,” he choked out, feeling his own throat constrict even as his tears retreated ever so slightly. “I… I don’t know if she needs healing.”

The cavalier nodded tersely and knelt down in front of them, reaching out to take the unconscious cleric from him. Genji tensed, drawing Angela closer to him, and Fareeha paused, frowning slightly. “Unless you have a healing potion, I can get her back to town much faster than you could.”

“Ah… y-yes. Apologies…” The draconic rogue felt a heaviness sink to the bottom of his stomach, embarrassed at his childish reaction. “I… am not thinking clearly.”

Fareeha nodded again, her face softening into a neutral expression. “I don’t think any of us are. She’ll be safe with me; I won’t forget a life debt so easily.” With those words, she lifted Angela off the ground. Genji forced himself to let go. He knew she was right – Nassor was the fastest among them and could fly as well – but he wanted to be the one to take her to safety.

_What is wrong with me?_ he chided himself as the cavalier made sure that both she and the winged cleric wouldn’t fall out of the saddle before taking off. He sat still for a few moments longer, secure in the knowledge that his friends wouldn’t be approaching so casually if there was any immediate threat. _I… I should speak with Master. Wait…!_

Genji sprung to his feet and whirled around, startling Lena, who had been walking up to his side. A quick glance around the field revealed to him that Zarya already had the warforged monk thrown over one shoulder as Winston and the brown-haired human woman wrapped Alder and Boris up in their bedrolls. In the back of his mind, Genji knew that they would have to tell their fallen allies’ friends the unfortunate news. It was not something he looked forward to, not when his closest friends had come so close to a similar fate.

A gentle tug at his belt brought him back to the present, and he looked down to see the halfling trickster smiling up at him half-heartedly. “I’m sorry, luv. Least we don’t gotta worry ‘bout ol’ black cloak comin’ back soon. He didn’t look in such good shape, an’ neither did his guys.”

“Mm,” Genji sighed. He couldn’t feel glad considering the lives lost… and the ones only barely saved. It was a small miracle that Lena could smile at all, even if it was with sorrow in her eyes.

“Yeah…” she sighed, looking off into the trees before continuing. “But, y’know, all things considered… it is nice to see you again.”

Genji felt the smallest of smiles pass over his lips and knelt down so he could be at her height. “It is the same with you.” He grunted as the halfling jumped up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, grateful to have met up with her and her group if nothing else.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Okay, big guy. Out of the armor.”

Hanzo nearly choked on his water at the forwardness of Brigitte’s words. He whirled around, pounding his chest and coughing, to see just what had prompted that order. Torbjörn and Jesse hadn’t reacted at all; the dwarf just put away the tools he’d been tinkering with, and the cowboy was checking the path ahead to make sure they were still on the right track. The archer didn’t expect Bastion to understand the significance of getting undressed, and so their lack of surprise hardly meant anything. In fact, it was looking like he was the only one to think this was something odd in the first place.

Something that Reinhardt picked up on with ease.

“Oh?” he chuckled, waggling his eyebrows at the younger man’s reaction. “You do seem the sort to admire a handsome figure, but I didn’t know you would be so interested in mine.”

Brigitte slapped the knight’s arm playfully, and Reinhardt burst out into hearty laughter. “You know what I meant, Sir Wilhelm,” she groaned. While her words carried respect, her tone implied that this was a conversation they’d had several times before. “You already stand out. Best not to tempt the fates by adding on a cart’s worth of forged steel, too.”

“Yes, yes,” the large man sighed, raising his arms to allow the young artificer access to the clasps that held his armor in place. “I know.”

Hanzo quickly turned around, glad to no longer be the focus of his companions’ attention but aware that his face was still a bit too red for his liking. It was hardly the first time he’d been teased by Reinhardt since coming across that abandoned fort. Each time, it felt like something a friend would do, and that, more than anything else, had him off balance. They were tracking a squad of mages across plains and hills while venturing further into hostile territory; they were not in the best position to start cozying up to each other. The archer sped up to Bastion’s side, noting that Brigitte was stuffing the knight’s armor into a bag that didn’t even bulge as she forced the large plates through its small opening.

“Boo-weep?”

Hanzo glanced up at the warforged’s unreadable face. He didn’t understand them half the time, but the curiosity was clear in their voice. Even Ganymede and Kai cocked their heads from where they were perched on Bastion’s shoulder. “He is mocking me,” the archer huffed. He didn’t really believe it, but the alternative was an almost foreign concept to him. That _anyone_ would like him – especially after unloading his entire history – felt like a cruel lie. Not that he wouldn’t deserve being hurt in such a way.

“Dyoo…” Bastion almost sounded like they were sighing, the low note dropping like a stone until he couldn’t hear it. They patted his shoulder before motioning ahead, beyond Jesse and his wolf to the sprawling city before them. It had taken a while to pick up the trail after the magical residue disappeared, but with two rangers and a druid, they had managed it. Just like they thought, the Vishkari had retreated to Umesa, the largest city in Lumerico. He was fairly certain that no one would be expecting them, but that was hardly a comfort. Bastion continued to speak, though, as if that would do something. “Doot dee yoop?”

The archer glanced between the brick buildings in the distance and the warforged’s hand. After a moment’s consideration, he stated, “It would be better not to get your hopes up. I have not heard pleasant things about this country.”

Bastion made a motion approximating a shrug. The rest of their party strolled past, with Reinhardt still the towering giant of a man despite just wearing the simple clothing he normally had on under his armor. A few people spared glances to the knight and warforged as they walked through the poorer districts outside the stone walls, but it wasn’t anything noteworthy. Houses were in bad repair, some little more than blankets draped over a pole, and the streets were unpaved. Hanzo wondered at the quality of the water being drawn from the few wells they passed. If the state of the children’s clothing was any indication, then it was either dirty itself or there was too little of it. Despite not having much, he kept a hand on his coin purse until they reached the gates into the city proper.

The guards, visibly bored as they leaned against the wall and chatted while their weapons leaned against a simple guard station, snapped to attention the moment their motley group came into view. Reinhardt barely had a chance to greet the armored men before a spear was leveled at his broad chest.

“What business have you in the city?” a guard wearing a dull green tabard demanded.

“What business we have?” Reinhardt parroted back, smiling that friendly grin he seemed to keep on at all times. “What other business could travelers have? We’re looking for a place to rest our weary bones for the night that isn’t on the cold ground.”

The guard pouted slightly and withdrew his spear. “Very well then, show me your papers.”

“Papers?” Brigitte piped in. “Since when does anyone need papers to get an inn?”

Hanzo felt similarly but chose not to respond. Cities had once been his turf, long ago. That was a different time. He didn’t know if he could still navigate a simple disagreement without resorting to violence. The guard’s scoff practically guaranteed that he made the right choice.

“No one gets in without permission from the royal family. Now show your papers or get lost.”

Behind them, Bastion beeped worriedly. The archer turned to see his friend trying to hide their blade-arm, though he knew it would be visible no matter what they did. Hanzo sighed, stepping over to lay a hand on the warforged’s shoulder. They quickly stopped fiddling with their arm and looked ahead, to where Reinhardt held his artificer friend back.

“I’m afraid we lost our papers on the journey here. Is there somewhere we could get replacements?” the knight kept smiling.

The guard gave a short harrumph and motioned to a slightly more intact section of the city. “There’re representatives in the Merchants’ district. One of them can issue a replacement. Until then, you’re staying out here.”

Reinhardt physically pushed Brigitte back as he thanked the guards for their assistance, not letting the nearly growling woman go until they were a fair distance away and out of earshot.

“What was that supposed to be?” the human artificer huffed, shooting an annoyed glare at the knight. “I’m sorry if this is out of line, but even you have to admit that was wrong.”

When Reinhardt didn’t offer an immediate response, Hanzo glanced between him and Brigitte. The towering knight had his brows scrunched tight in concentration, stroking his beard thoughtfully. He may not have known the man very long, but such hesitation seemed odd. “We… are not getting these ‘papers’, are we?”

Reinhardt met his eyes and shook his head. “No, there would be little point. Those men were looking for a fight. I am not against putting such children in their place, but a fight here would be far more conspicuous than one man wearing a cart-full of armor.”

“Then why not get the papers?” Brigitte suggested. Most of the fire had left her voice, but the indignity remained.

“Two problems with that, lad,” Torbjörn interjected. “First, we’re still technically at war. A lot of Omnics wandering around a Vishkari territory… may as well sound the trumpets and charge right then. And second, they’d probably find some other reason to keep us out anyway.”

As Reinhardt nodded and Brigitte conceded the point, Hanzo saw Jesse pause and look over his shoulder. By his side, Tara also turned her head, sniffing into the slight breeze. The archer stopped until the cowboy was next him, giving the rest of their party pause a few steps ahead. “Do you disagree with that assessment?” Hanzo said, more of a statement than a question.

Jesse shook his head, still not meeting the archer’s eyes. “Naw, it ain’t that…” There was the slightest hint of a nose twitch as he glanced around behind them. Hanzo saw nothing out of the ordinary, but he knew that hardly meant anything. This wasn’t the forest; for all he knew, the lack of people out and about at this hour was simply par for the course.

“Mm,” Reinhardt nodded. He was beginning to tap his fingers against his leg, and all of his muscles were tensed up. In the absence of conversation, the quiet seemed unnatural. “Something is very wrong here. Brigitte, my hammer.”

The artificer reached into her bag without hesitation, but she wasn’t quick enough. Electricity crackled in the air, rising from the red clay path and gathering right in the center of the group. Bastion’s loud beeping was all Hanzo could hear over the white noise as he leapt towards cover along with everyone else.

With a final boom, the gathered energy exploded outwards, hitting the archer like a flash flood in a barren creek bed. He fell against the side of a building, the wood creaking from the weight but not breaking. Hanzo held his head as the world spun around him. A figure in a bright purple coat had materialized in their midst, laughing at how they were all sprawled on the ground.

“That was too easy!” she gloated as she strolled around the recovering adventurers. “Seriously, you made the prince’s lapdog run away with her tail between her legs. I expected more of a challenge.”

Hanzo rose shakily to his feet, still leaning against the wall. His vision was still swimming, but their attacker’s features were coming into view. She reminded him of the brightly colored, hard candies sold in the capital city; nothing about her was subtle. Her leggings were the same shade as her coat, and the shock of hair falling over the right side of her face looked like it had been dipped in the dye as well. The other half of her head was shaved, revealing glowing patterns in the scalp that pulsed in time with the light surrounding both her free hand and the one holding a wickedly spiked morningstar.

“What?!” Brigitte gasped, drawing Hanzo’s attention for a brief moment. “It’s not working! The bag’s not working. I can’t get anything out.”

The archer ignored her shouts and the dwarf’s obvious panic when his arcane gestures summoned nothing. He slung his bow off his back and drew it with ease, despite the pounding in his head. Their attacker smirked and winked at him, and the pain throughout his body reasserted itself with a fiery vengeance. Hanzo fell to his knees, swallowing an agonized shout as he tried to aim.

“Seriously, where’s the fun I was promised?” she taunted, twirling her weapon around before pointing it at Bastion. “I’ll just have to make my own fun, then. You’ll do for now.”

Ganymede leapt off their shoulder, tweeting in distress. The woman mumbled some words under her breath, and the glow along her scalp turned from that obnoxious purple to a hungry red. The same red that Bastion’s eye turned not a moment later. Hanzo mustered all his willpower to stand and stumble backwards. He’d only seen the warforged druid’s eye turn that color once before, back when they had first met. He didn’t quite remember what had triggered it, but Bastion tore through the trees and underbrush and any poor animal that happened to be in their way before Ganymede’s presence brought them back. The woman laughed a command to the warforged, who easily stood back up and launched themselves right at Reinhardt and the artificers.

“Bastion! What the heck are you doing?” Jesse had already recovered and drawn his sword to swing at the woman in purple, but she turned into a wisp the moment the blade connected. The cowboy whirled around, trying to find where she went, but only her voice echoed from the air.

“Aw, looks like it’s just not your day, is it, _McCree_. Well, it’s been fun, but I’ve gotta go. See ya~”

Hanzo took one step before darkness engulfed the area. Up and down had little meaning as he tried stumbling forward, just to see if he could get to where the rest of the group was. He could still faintly hear Bastion’s gears turning, but whatever spell that woman cast had dampened his hearing as well. _Kai… Kai, where are you?_ the archer groaned as he misjudged a step and nearly fell to the ground. The clay of the path gave way to stone, and he hoped that he was still going in the right direction. _Reinhardt? Jesse? What happened? Were we followed? And why did she know your name…?_

The pain slowly evaporated from his limbs as the shadows faded, and Hanzo groaned yet again. The buildings to his sides were made of brick, not wood, and he couldn’t see the group anywhere. Only Reinhardt stood nearby, fists up and ready to fight, though his face told that he didn’t expect to be where he was. The knight looked around, and Hanzo shrugged when the man’s good eye fell on him.

“Arrest them!” a heavily armored guard shouted across the square. Hanzo hadn’t noticed it at first, but they were somehow on the edge of a small marketplace. People dashed out of the way, leaving a clear path between the guards and themselves. And there were so many guards. “They are enemies of the glorious Vishkari kingdom! Seize them!”

Hanzo instinctively reached for his quiver before realizing that his bow was no longer in hand. Cursing under his breath, the archer stepped closer to Reinhardt. The knight placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him further into his shadow and out of immediate danger. It was a kind gesture, but Hanzo knew how futile it was. They were weaponless and behind enemy lines with no backup.

They were trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. Feedback helps me keep the quality of my writing high so y'all can keep enjoying this story.
> 
> And for those wondering how I did for NaNoWriMo, I didn't get to the 50K mark, but I did make it to 30k words. So, while I didn't finish NaNo, I did finish a mini-NaNo, which is more than I've ever done before. Yay!


	20. Cat Got Yer Tongue

It would be better to surrender. In the back of his mind, Hanzo knew this. The guards easily shuffled around to surround the men, hesitating only because of Reinhardt’s imposing figure. The archer had experience with unarmed fighting – and he had an inkling that the knight did too – but this? This was practically unwinnable.

The guard who issued the order to arrest them in the first place drew his sword as he stepped towards them. “Surrender! You will face judgment for your crimes according to Vishkari Royal Law.”

Reinhardt huffed, and Hanzo half expected him to throw the man out of the way. For all that they were surrounded, there was still an alleyway nearby. It wasn’t much of an escape route, but it was one. The knight didn’t notice it, though, or if he did, his demeanor didn’t suggest it. “And what crimes would those be?” Some of the men shifted as Reinhardt puffed out his chest and crossed his arms. Even the archer found himself slightly intimidated by the knight.

“You know your own crimes,” the guard-captain snorted. “Seize them!”

A few guards stepped forward, reaching out to grab the men’s arms. Hanzo didn’t have time to wonder if he should let them capture him, though. The moment one even touched Reinhardt, the giant man slapped his hand away – sending the guard reeling to the ground from the force. The others stopped the moment he resisted, weapons in their hands instantly. Hanzo felt his heart clench, and his eyes flew over the nearby buildings, hoping for some weapon or advantage he could get before this fight went completely downhill.

As if they weren’t already at the bottom of the proverbial hill.

Reinhardt adopted a defensive stance, arms raised to shield his chest from the blades directed at it. Even without armor, the man could take a few hits while dishing out some of his own. Hanzo was not so durable. He barely had enough warning to step out of the way of one strike, just to stumble right into another. The spear tore his shoulder, and the follow-up blow missed just because he fell to his knee as he cried in pain.

“Hanzo!”

The archer winced as he looked up to see Reinhardt throwing off two guards to return to his side. Had there been more time, he would’ve asked why the knight chose to fight when the odds were so against them, probably yell at him for being so reckless. _I believe I’m beginning to know how Brigitte feels,_ Hanzo thought, even as he caught the glimpse of weapons being raised again out of the corner of his eye. “We’re outmatched and unarmed. We’ve lost,” he stated.

“Have faith, my friend,” Reinhardt grinned. Hanzo gave him the most incredulous look, but that just furthered his smile. “I will protect you!”

Any protest died in Hanzo’s throat as Reinhardt stood back to his full height and let out a roar. Not just a loud shout. A roar. The sound was deep and guttural, far beyond what any human should be able to produce. Hanzo could feel it vibrate through his body, all the way to his bones, his legs turning to jelly at the sheer power behind it. Apparently the guards were feeling the same, as they all took a step back, glancing at each other and their captain.

Hanzo’s eyes never left the knight before him. Reinhardt seemed to grow, his arms and chest stretching the fabric of his tunic. His hands shifted, growing wider… and hairier. Short, gray fur grew from his skin, some poking through his clothing. But what drew his attention was neither that nor the leonid tail that seemingly sprung into existence… it was his face. His jaw stretched into a short muzzle from which dozens of whiskers sprouted. His hair, already ruffled and unkempt, grew into a glorious mane that went halfway down his back. The scar over his left eye became even more pronounced, lending him an air of wisdom and toughness he lacked even when human. His teeth, now thick and sharp, gleamed as he snarled and roared yet again.

“What…” Hanzo exhaled, so soft that only he could hear the words, “what are you?”

Everything felt so far away. The fear of this new creature before him drowned out anything else that might’ve scared him. He wasn’t even aware that the guards had given them space, backing out of reach of Reinhardt’s claws.

“What are you idiots doing?!” the guard-captain shouted from the backlines. His harsh words and cracking voice were what shook Hanzo back to the present, where they were still in very real danger from all sides. “You have swords! Use them!”

A halberdier turned to his captain, visibly shaken. “B-but sir… he’s a were-beast…”

“Either that monstrosity gets the sword or you do!”

Reinhardt snarled and lunged as soon as the words left the captain’s lips, swiping through the ranks with ease. Hanzo saw pieces of metal clatter to the ground, trailing blood from the gashes the werelion left in the guards’ armor. Words hung in his throat, unsure of what would turn that monster’s attention to him. The guards were an afterthought in his mind. It would’ve been easy for one to slit his throat in passing, but all of their focus was on Reinhardt. And why wouldn’t it be? For every slice marring the lion’s fur with sticky red, his claws rent through two suits of armor. The guard-captain stood his ground, but he fumbled for a horn at his belt. He blew it, and a loud bellow echoed through the square, a call for reinforcements no doubt.

The lion tossed a horrified swordsman to the side and rounded on the captain, snarling, “Fight me, you coward!” Hanzo gasped, tightening his grip on his shoulder wound as Reinhardt charged the captain. The man raised his shield, blocking the swipe of his claws in the same moment he thrust his sword into the lion’s side. An agonized roar rang out, and Reinhardt backed away a step.

“Heh,” the captain smirked, advancing as he spoke. “See, men. This monster is no more than a desperate criminal with nothing to lose. We have righteousness on our side! Therefore, we shall be v-”

Without pomp or circumstance or warning, a fiery blast exploded against the captain’s back, sending him reeling face-first into the ground. Some of the guards furthest from the unarmed duo also fell as arrows peppered their backs and energy bolts knocked them off their feet. Those few guards still standing whipped around, trying to see who had joined the fray. Reinhardt knelt by Hanzo’s side, shielding him with his furry body against these unknown assailants, almost unaware of the archer’s fearful looks at everyone present.

Men and women in peasants’ garb stood away from the scuffle, each leveling either a crossbow or hand swirling with arcane energy at the guards. They came from what looked like all walks of life: elves, humans, dwarves… each with varying levels of humble clothing, from dirty rags to the respectable apron of a town’s blacksmith. Leaping down from a rooftop was the most conspicuous of the new arrivals.

It was a golem, or something close to it. In shape, it resembled a humanoid with cat-like legs and an overly large chest. However, it had no head, and reinforced glass covered the front of its chest, revealing a hollow cavity where a brown-haired girl lay on her stomach. The girl held onto two handles that she moved, and with each movement she made with them, the golem moved with it. And on its arms, instead of hands, were two bulbous apparatuses that swirled with various energies. When the hollow golem landed in the square, it left a visible imprint in the dirt, kicked up dust landing on its pink hull.

“I think you’ve had enough fun for today,” the girl shouted, her voice seeming to echo not from her mouth but the golem itself. “Why don’t you run along, like good little toy soldiers?”

“Never!” the guard-captain screeched, picking himself off the ground with more than a little difficulty. “Kill these rebel scum! Take no prisoners!”

No sooner had he spoken those words than the girl squeezed the handles and several small bolts of energy shot out from the golem’s arms, striking him all over his body. The other rebels – as Hanzo assumed they were – struck as well, bolts burying into the rest of the guards’ bodies as fire and lightning rained down from the few magicians in their midst. The captain fell to the ground, his face frozen in a look of pure disbelief as the last breathes left his body. Around them, guards that had merely been injured were struck down, and the rest backed away, clutching their newly opened wounds. Several men shouted for a retreat, and a few managed to escape down the main road. Others ducked down whatever alley was closest. Hanzo saw some rebels twitch as they ran past but stopped when the girl raised her voice again.

“Let them go!” she ordered. “We’re not sore losers like they are!” The golem stepped up to Reinhardt and angled down, so the girl was eye level with the leonid man. “You better come with us. They’re gonna come back soon, and we don’t want to be outflanked.”

Reinhardt nodded and reached around to pick the archer up. The brush of claws finally shook Hanzo from his paralysis. He scrambled to his feet, nearly shoving the knight’s hand out of his way. The rebels disappeared into the city just as quick as they had appeared, and Hanzo stuck as close to the girl as he could while she led them down twisting streets, as far from Reinhardt and his deceivingly kind smile as possible.

* * * * * * * * * *

They kept going down, being led along staircase after staircase until there was no direct sunlight at all. Mud and dirt gave way to brick, stone, and wood that formed corridors that were almost assuredly underground. It wasn’t long before Hanzo was totally lost; he could probably find his way back along the path, but he knew he couldn’t navigate the rest of the city. Part of it was just that he wasn’t familiar with the area, but mostly it was because there were too many turns to remember all at once.

Eventually, they began to pass other rebels, hiding their swords and bows beneath cloaks and jackets. They kept their eyes firmly locked on Hanzo and Reinhardt, but the girl told them all that it was fine and to let them pass. She only stopped once they reached a cavernous room, where several men and women had gathered, resting in cots or sharpening their blades by a solitary forge. One of the men, wearing the bright green vestments of a bard that were such a stark contrast to his dark brown skin, moving among the cots perked up as they entered and dashed over.

“Hana, you’re back!” he sang.

The girl sat her golem down against the wall, and a hatch opened up on its back, where she backed out to stand next to the archer and knight. She smiled at the approaching bard and held out her arms for an embrace, moments before he did just that. As they squeezed each other tightly, Hanzo could see that the man had slightly pointed ears that twitched in joy. “Of course I’m back,” Hana stated, though she couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice. “You don’t think some silly guards could keep me away, do you?”

The bard snickered and kissed her. Hanzo averted his eyes, feeling more like an outsider than he usually did. Something twisted in his stomach at the shamelessly display of adoration, the scene reminding him that it had been so long since Jesse had thrown his arm around his shoulder. _I got along fine without being held for years,_ the archer thought, even as he crossed his arms close to his chest. _I don’t deserve it anyway._

Reinhardt titled his head at Hanzo, but the action went unnoticed by the two lovebirds in front of them. As if remembering that they had company, the man reluctantly let go of the golem rider and stood straight before them, a grin still lingering on his lips. “So, who do we have here? I’ve never seen you two before. Pretty sure I’d recognize you.”

The leonine man let out a hearty laugh. “We do stand out quite a bit. I am Reinhardt Wilhelm, and this quiet one is Hanzo.” The archer felt fur tickle his back as if he raised a paw to pat his back but decided against it at the last moment. “However, I’m afraid we do not know who you are. May we at least have a name for our rescuers?”

“Oh! I knew I forgot something!” Hana snapped her gloved fingers.

The bard chuckled and patted her head. “You just get in that zone, don’t you? Well, sorry for the delayed introductions, but I’m Lúcio Correia los Santos. And the hyper-focused mage right here is Hana Song. And this,” he gestured to the rest of the cavern, “is the resistance. You got troubles with the Vishkari, you’re welcome here.”

“Resistance?” Hanzo asked.

Lúcio nodded. “Yeah, I’m not going to lie down while those mage-lords come in and take what they want. And I’m not the only one, either. You must’ve run into trouble with them too if Hana led you here.”

“Yes,” Reinhardt growled. “It’s… a long story. However, we’ve also been separated from our companions, so we need to find them as quickly as possible.”

“No problem,” Hana chirped, putting her hands on her hips and puffing her chest out. “We can find them, easy as pie. Just leave it to us.”

The bard nodded. “Yeah, best you two stay put and get some healing. Hana’s the best scout in the city, so you’re friends are in good hands.”

Hanzo didn’t feel right, but he agreed that they weren’t in the best position to go looking for the others. His shoulder still stung quite sharply, after all, and he couldn’t image how much all the nicks Reinhardt had gotten were feeling. Lúcio led them back towards a makeshift cantina after getting descriptions of the rest of Hanzo’s group, where he gave them some bowls of stew before running off to get one of the healers. The archer sighed and sat on a barrel that had been upturned to make a chair, swirling the bits of his stew to determine what each of them were before eating. Reinhardt was just a few steps behind him.

Hanzo flinched as the giant man sat down beside him. He tried to concentrate on the gamey stew in front of him, but the swish of Reinhardt's tail drew his attention. Did he _have_ to remain in that unnatural half-beast form? The archer was about to get up when he heard a sigh.

"You must think me a monster."

"No," Hanzo snapped, surprising himself far more than the werelion. "You are... merely not human."

Beside him, Reinhardt huffed, the closest he could get to purring if he was anything like the tigers in the mountain regions. He shifted, and Hanzo felt short, graying fur brush his cheek as the werelion reached out to him. "You are not afraid of me?" The light, hopeful tone in his voice was all that kept the archer from bolting. Hanzo was afraid; he was so very, very afraid. Tales of lycanthropes weren't common in his homeland, and what ones he had heard were never good.

He bit the inside of his lip to keep from making any offputting sounds as Reinhardt gently turned his face to look at him. A thought kept repeating in his mind: This was Reinhardt, a man who knew everything he’d done, all the horrible acts he’d committed, yet the man still spoke fondly to him. This was a man whom he found himself admiring, and maybe even liking... He just happened to have more fur than expected. That was all, right? Looking into those wide eyes, one clouded from the scar that cleaved it in half, Hanzo could only say one thing. "I am _not_ afraid."

Reinhardt smiled and lowered his hand. Somehow, he seemed even more human than before, and the archer realized that he had actually been frightened. Not of what Hanzo could do to him, but of what Hanzo _thought_ of him. He suddenly felt very tired. Placing his bowl on the table in front of them, the archer let his forehead rest against the werelion’s shoulder. And he didn’t withdraw when Reinhardt wrapped one arm around his shoulder and pressed his lips to his head.

For the first time in a long time, Hanzo didn’t want to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. Please let me know if I'm rushing things or if something doesn't make sense. The more feedback I get, the more I'll be able to improve.


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